Voyage
by rhoades
Summary: A cruise ship...zombies...nowhere to run. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Voyage

The cruise ship was a magnificent achievement of modern craftsmanship.

It had taken the best part of three years of back-breaking work. The time had not gone without incident; several workers crushed beneath scaffolding that had collapsed as one of the massive anchors had shifted on the deck of the ship. When the emergency vehicles had arrived they had to power-wash what was left of the men from the concrete cradle and the side of the vessel.

There had been other problems too; financial and otherwise.

The ship itself was one of the largest and most luxurious ever built or conceived by human minds. It boasted the most advanced engines and engineering of the modern age, the equipment on-board state-of-the-art for any ship ever built.

The cabins in first-class were the largest and most extravagant ever designed. They had the softest sheets, the largest beds. The bathrooms boasted hot-tubs that you could fit a large family in all at once, the tiles imported from around the world, the faucets and fittings 18 carat gold. The water that flowed from them filtered til it was the cleanest and purest it could possibly be.

Every cabin was fifty feet to a side, three rooms deep, every one of them overlooking the sea through panoramic windows. They all boasted twenty-four hour service from the best people from all departments on-board from the loftiest steward to the lowliest maid.

Even if you didn't travel first-class (only a few could afford the cost) you were still very well looked after; although obviously not as well. The rooms were well cleaned by an army of cleaners and maids, never a dirty linen sheet found or a towel out of place.

The vessel stretched almost a half a mile from stem to stern and almost five hundred feet wide. Every foot of space was given over to extravagance and luxury. Casinos were on every floor, shops and malls, restaurants and bars. There were even three discos a nightclub and numerous bars. Every major retailer was represented and even a few that were new to the people. There was even space for storage where goods were kept so nothing would ever run low.

There were five freight elevators and over thirty passenger lifts that could take you to any part of the ship one would wish to visit.

The ship was 'Leviathan.'

A more apt name for the ocean going behemoth had never been suggested.

The staff were on board and awaiting passengers and had been for several weeks. The buzz of expectation was almost palpable. It could comfortably hold ten thousand souls, with a staff of hundreds of professionals to staff their every whim and need. In the history of maritime voyages it would be the biggest, the best, the most memorable there ever had been, or ever would be.

'Damn, that is one big boat!'

Able Harley looked up at the side of the ship towering into the clear blue sky ahead of him. A look of astonishment on his face as he tried to make out the railing on the top deck.

His wife, Crystal, looked at him with barely disguised indifference.

Able knew that she had heard him, but neither cared nor expected an answer. He hadn't married her for her blistering conversational skills.

They had met in Vegas.

She had been a busty young croupier, he had been the lusty owner of the place she worked.

He was rich and married, she was young and looking to make her way in the big city, the city that never slept. He had been only too happy to oblige.

He prided himself on hiring only the best looking members of staff. He liked to be surrounded by beautiful things. A fact that annoyed his wife to no end, a fact that he was happy to exploit.

It had started as a casual fling, the odd intercepted phone call passed off as a business meeting, her playing the part of secretary. That was until the fateful night that his wife had arrived home from one of her many functions to find the two of them in a less than 'just-good-friends' situation.

She had screamed, he had pleaded. All the while the girl had calmly stepped out of the bed and, completely naked, had grabbed a double handful of perfectly coifed hair and had bounced her head off the marble floor until the other woman had stopped moving.

After the initial shock had worn off Able had phoned a couple of his best men and they had cleaned the mess.

He had filed for divorce a week later claiming that she had run off with another man. A week later (with the right palms properly greased) the papers had been signed and he had asked the girl to marry him.

This was the honeymoon.

He placed his hands on his bulging waistline and belched loudly, people around him throwing onerous glances in his direction.

He fired his best eat-shit-and-die smile back at them.

He looked back to the ship he would call home for the next month.

'Yep, that is one hell of a boat!'

Scott Winter turned his walkman down and stared at the sight directly in front of him. He was looking forward to the voyage, especially since the way several of the women staff had smiled at him as he passed through customs.

He knew he was a good-looking dude; he had the flawless features of a young James Dean and the sculpted body of a athlete. Two facets that he used to his advantage as much as he possible. He was only nineteen but he had boasted to all his friends of the countless conquests that he had had.

He looked around through the mirrored aviator sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, eyeing up the myriad possibilities that stood and passed all around. If there was anything he was sure of, it was the fact he wouldn't go wanting on this trip.

He made his way forwards and passed a large, heavy set man who was totally oblivious to all but the large steel vessel in front of his eyes.

He turned his head a few degrees and threw his best smile at the leggy blonde that sat a few feet away. She returned the smile lowering her glasses an inch or so and looked back with the palest blue eyes that he had ever seen, eyes that implied so many things, and promised so much more.

Oh yes, he thought, this could be a trip to remember.

Margo James lifted the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder and clutched it protectively to her chest.

She hated the water, especially the ocean. She was only here because she had won the trip in a competition and more than her hatred of the the water she hated to give anything that she thought she deserved away.

She was just hoping to get away from her life for a while, her mother hoping that it would bring her out of the protective shell she had worn for the last five years.

She had always been the plain girl, the shy girl. The type of girl that boys thought of as a sister, a friend. Never more than that, never an object of lust.

Twenty-two and still a virgin.

To that end alone she had made a promise to herself; to lose her virginity or die in the process.

Before she had checked in, in a moment of unheard of bravado she had dived into the gift shop and had purchased the skimpiest, sheerest bikini that she could find. She would wear it the first chance that she got. She knew she had an alright figure even though the neutral colours and bulky sweaters hid it from view most of the time.

She was determined that the trip would be a turning point in her life.

She looked up towards the top of the ship and imagined herself in the swimsuit, reclining on a deckchair in front of one of the pools surrounded by the rich, the famous. The handsome.

She had always had deep thoughts of becoming an actress or a singer, one could never tell. All she needed was the confidence.

Maybe on this trip.

Maybe.

Maybe.

The possibility became a mantra in her mind.

Martin Phillips looked around at all the people flowing like water around him.

All the pomp. All the hype.

All the money.

E tried to imagine how much jewellery was in a crowd this big. How much money in wallets and purses. How many personal possessions being carried through the area.

He tried to calculate and his brain rebelled at the…largeness of it all.

He and his tem had been hired to provide security for the ships maiden voyage and he knew before he accepted that the logistics were going to be a complete pain in the ass. But it wasn't until he found himself standing here that he realised howbig a task it would be.

He looked around spotting the rest of his team; there were five of them in all including himself. He had hand-picked them personally, each being the very best in their field.

At the head of the line he was in there stood a small man completely at ease with his surroundings, eyes hidden behind small round black glasses. His features relaxed under his close cropped blonde hair.

He wore a long black light-weight jacket and tan trousers.

His face was apt to break into a smile and he was always willing to share a joke with a stranger. Marco was the easiest member of the crew but beneath the calm exterior was a side that others, normal folk, very rarely saw.

He was the best shot that Martin had ever seen in his life. He boasted that he could take the wings off a fly from a hundred yards in a high wind. He had never been asked to back the boast up, the others were sure he could do it. He could handle the smallest calibre pistol with the same ease as he handled the largest bore rifle.

He turned his head and found the second operative about twenty feet from where he stood.

The woman stood at five-five, the raven black hair hanging down to the small of her back in a tight braid.

Her name was Sandra.

She had the sculpted looks of a movie star combined with the supple grace of a gymnast. Martin knew that her loose clothing hid a number of blades both small and large. She was equally skilled with blades as she was the martial arts. He had seen her take down men with steel quieter and with more accuracy than the best Bravo sniper. She smiled often and with genuine warmth.

It was when she had blade in hand and no smile that people tended to realise they had made the last mistake they would ever make.

Further to his left, more ahead than any of the others Martin could make out the form of the next team member and one of his oldest friends.

To be fair he would be easy to spot in any crowd he stepped into the middle of.

Ricardo Bauhas was a huge man, no two ways around the fact; at over six-foot-two and 350 pounds he was probably the biggest man in the general area. As large across as two normal men and strong with it. His sleeveless vest showed every taut muscle, every tendon standing out in dark contrast to his ebony skin. He looked like an out of work American wrestler, and that was exactly what he used to want to be. He chose another career though. Although he joined the forces he still wrestled occasionally when the chance came along, when someone in another unit thought they could take him on.

The size of him, the shaved head and the light blue almost pale eyes, people usually gave him a wide a berth as possible. He was the teams demolitions expert when and if the situation called for it and also doubled as the groups pilot. If it flew he could fly it. It was a standing joke with all of them that if the wings had fallen off Ric would bundle them all in and throw them back home.

Martin remembered a time when they had been on leave in a bar in Italy. After the last patrol of their tour they had decided to wear their BDU's and head for a quiet drink. The bar that they walked into was clean and out of the way, it also happened to be full of regular army grunts.

The evening started innocently enough as one of them had challenged the two to a drinking contest. It had gone rapidly downhill from there.

To this day he still didn't remember who had made the remark that had set his friend off.

When the M.P's had shown up twenty minutes later they found thirty-two bloody and unconscious soldiers on the floor and two more with torn, slightly different uniforms, laughing and drinking at what was left of the bar. Rumour had it that they had been still picking up teeth half an hour after they had left.

An arm brushed lightly against his side snapping him out of his revere. A body fell against him and he reached out to stop the person from falling. Hands grabbed him back.

'I'm sorry, please excuse me.'

'That's quite alright.'

Martin lifted the young man to his feet and let go with one of his hands. He kept the other clamped to the others upper arm.

The man looked at the hand on his arm and then looked at the surpressed thunder in the others grey eyes. Martin pulled him close and leaned in towards his ear.

'That's a nasty habit you have there friend.'

The man tried to pull away but the hand was like a band of steel on his bicep.

'I…I'm sorry, what?'

Martin leaned closer still his mouth a hair from the man ear, he lowered his voice even more.

'If you don't give me my wallet back in the next three seconds I'll have to break both your arms, comprende?'

The mans eyes went wide as saucers as his hand visibly leapt to an inside pocket. He pulled the leather wallet from there and handed it over visibly shaking. Martin took it back and, with one last squeeze pushed the man back into the crowd of people. He walked quickly away rubbing his arm casting furtive glances over his shoulder.

Martin put the wallet back in his jacket confident that it waas safe.

'Problem boss?'

He turned his head slightly and smiled at the man standing there.

'Nothing to worry about Mitch.'

Mitchell Warren nodded lightly and walked back into the crowd of people.

He vanished into the sea of faces.

He knew that the man had been around but it still surprised him at just how quiet the guy could be. He tried to spot him and wasn't surprised that he couldn't see him. He wasn't called 'ghost' for a reason. If he didn't want to be found then he wouldn't be.

He had the knack of being in the perfect position when he was needed and the right position when he wasn't.

Average height, average looks, mid thirties. He could blend into any crowd and lose himself within seconds. He could turn himself to any situation and was a crack shot just like the rest of them.

Martin made the final member of the team and was the boss.

He was an extremely fit forty-eight and had been a major commanding his own special forces team. He had seen action in many conflicts and had seen the worst in men from around the globe. He had smokey-grey eyes in a deeply tanned face, features lined by a lifetime outside with the elements. Like the rest of the men his salt and pepper hair was closely cropped in a classic army buzz cut.

He checked on his team once more (all except who had disappeared from sight) and walked towards the boarding ramps. His gut told him that this trip was going to be one to remember.

He hoped he was wrong, just this once. Feelings like the ones he had usually meant trouble.


	2. Chapter 2 :Underway

. 1 .

The captain stood on the bridge of the immense ship, hands clasped behind his back, gaze locked at distant point beyond the wraparound windows.

Aside from being the largest ocean going vessel in history it was also the largest he had ever been in command of throughout his lengthy career. He was looking forward to the challenges that lay ahead.

He was aware that there was a lot riding on he and his crew.

His wandering gaze took in computers that would keep the ship running through any emergency. Redundant back-ups that would charge in if ever there were an alert. This coupled with the fact the crew were the best he had ever worked with gave him an unshakable belief in the ultimate victory of the journey.

The press had dubbed the vessel the 21st century Titanic, and that was the only thing that sat uneasily with him.

No ship was unsinkable, the Leviathan being no exception.

However every precaution had been taken; there were more than enough lifeboats on-board, enough provisions to last through any situation. Any conceivable drama.

There was even a small, but well equipped armoury available to the higher ranks on the ship. Both the second in command and the captain had a key, plus another that would be given to the head of security should the need arise. The captain was a man that didn't like to leave anything to chance.

He knew that anything that could happen would be precisely contained and controlled.

The crew was the most experienced ever assembled with thousands of practical hours between them. They all had at least basic medical training and there were even some that had been given firearms schooling.

Any immediate threat could be handled. Any surprises would be handled as and when they appeared.

He bobbed lightly on the heels of his feet, confident in his and his subordinates abilities.

The ship was loaded and ready a full hour before it was meant to set sail.

It backed-out of the specially constructed dock and turned slowly, pointing its prow out towards open waters. The eight huge propellers started to spin on their screws, power from the massive turbines starting to push the ship into the low waves lapping against the water line.

The thrum of the engines was felt through the entire ship, but only for a second or two as they settled into their routine.

The maiden voyage of the Leviathan was underway.

Able leaned across the bar and wiggled the very nearly empty glass at the bar tender in front of him.

'I'll have another of those my good man.'

The young man reached for the glass and deftly deposited it in the small washer under the counter, he turned and took another heavy crystal glass from the rack behind him and passed it under the drinks dispenser. He waited until the flow of amber liquid stopped and then passed it through once more.

He grabbed a deep blue, folded napkin from the stack near him and placed the glass on top of it on the bars top.

Able took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and waved at the other man as he went to make change.

He grabbed his drink and wobbled over to where his wife sat.

He threw his bulk into a large upholstered chair and put his drink down on the polished table.

Crystal sat across from him, a glass of champagne in one hand.

He reached under the table and put his hand on one of her slender legs. She looked back at him, a slight smile just tilting the corners of her mouth.

Crystal saw the leering smile on his face and forced one of her most sincere smiles in return.

She knew what that smile meant, and knew that the only way she was going to get any peace tonight was to get him so drunk as not to be able to get it up. By the looks of him it wouldn't take much more to tip him over the edge.

When they were hiding behind his wives back, sneaking around and grabbing the odd moment in cheap motels it had been so good…so sneaky.

But now the spark was fading. If it weren't for the money and the prestige she would have left before now.

She turned away from him and the smile fell from her face. She took another small sip from her glass and looked around the room. There were a lot of single men in the room, hell, the single part wasn't necessary, if they had the means and were willing then she would drop Able like a bad habit.

Scott looked across the crowded room and caught the attention of the beautiful woman that he had seen earlier. They shared an open smile across the space between them, the look full of promise. He had met the type before. Wanton, sexual…bored.

He stood and wove his way through the crowd to where she sat with, what he assumed, was her husband. He saw the mans drunken gaze lift towards him as he got closer. It was the look of a man twho was used to getting what he wanted, an Alpha male.

A challenge.

His smile grew wider as he drew up next to the table.

'Hi there', he said jovially.

Able looked the younger man straight in the eye, trying to appear more sober than he actually was. He saw nothing in the mans face to suggest he was being anything but polite. Just another traveller being friendly.

Crystal nodded a polite greeting in return her gaze not lingering long on this handsome stranger, her heart starting to flutter slightly. She felt the hand on her leg relax and move away.

'Do you mind if I join you folks?. Getting lonely drinking all alone.'

Able reached out and shook the mans hand introducing himself and his wife.

'Nice to meet a fellow traveller.'

Scott turned his smile on full wattage and sat down next to Able. Noticeably away from the woman opposite. He looked at her from the corner of his eye but kept his questions directly at Able, making himself as less threatening as possible.

To her credit Crystal kept quiet and spoke only when directly spoken to. When she did speak she kept her answers short but polite.

'Say,' said Scott. 'Who wants another drink?'

Able swallowed what was left in his glass and passed the dead soldier over for a refill. Crystal lightly wiggled her still half full glass, gently shaking her head.

Scott stood and walked over to the bar. He placed his own glass down and the empty from the other man.

'Could I have a triple scotch, neat and a glass of water please?'

The barman poured the drinks and Scott paid for them. Before he left he took a large swallow of water then made his way back.

Able took the proffered glass and took a hearty swallow, eyes widening at the taste of neat alcohol. He waved the glass at the younger man.

'What's your poison son?'

'I don't usually drink, but today is special.'

He looked at Crystal.

'You know, what with the voyage and all, I thought a few vodkas would ease the passage. It is really wonderful stuff'

He offered the glass across to her and winked, the barest suggestion of movement that she caught nonetheless.

She took the drink and had a small sip, her eyes widening momentarily as the taste of ice-cold water trickled down her throat.

She handed it back and for the briefest of moments their fingers touched sending an almost electrical charge between them.

He took the glass back and downed the rest of the drink, making a show of grimacing as the 'vodka' went down. Able, seeming convinced warmed-up to the younger man. He started to talk, fast and loose. He told him his story, his wives story. Anything and everything that came to mind.

And, of course, he drank.

After the first couple of drinks Able insisted on paying for everything. Scott was more than happy to oblige him.

As the night wore on Crystal moved ever closer around the table, finally finding herself seated next to him, their thighs touching. Able was past caring, in fact he had trouble seeing solid objects with any clarity anymore.

The next round was 'the last round.'

Able hit the table face first with a dull thud, the side of his face thumping onto the surface.

Scott stood and spoke just loud enough so the others around them could hear.

'Well', he said. 'I thik its time we got you into bed.'

Crystal sttod and asked a passing steward if there was anyone who could help with her husband. Almost immediately two burly helpers appeared and half carried, half dragged the unconscious man away to his cabin. Crystal gave them her room key and watched as the negotiated a path between the people around them.

Scott appeared beside her and help out his arm. She looped her arm through it and looked expectantly up at him.

'Shall we take a walk?'

'Love to.'

The walked off soon to be swallowed by the crowds.

Margo watched the two of them walk off towards the exit.

To say she was disappointed would have been an understatement…she was crushed.

Deep down she knew that as soon as she had seen the women on board (the majority of women in fact) she had had little chance of finding an introduction to the handsome man she had seen earlier. But she had hoped.

She slumped down into the chair she was in and grasped her glass of fruit juice tighter.

confidence had fled her and she had wandered off to find a dark corner to hide in. She had seen the handsome man wander off towards the table with the beautiful woman and the large man and start to drink. Some time later the large man had slumped on the table and shortly after the other two had left together. She stood and walked towards another exit that lead to the outside of the ship.

She looked into the sky, the clearest nights sky that she could ever remember seeing. A myriad of stars hanging there in the still blackness.

She released a deep sigh that seemed to shake her entire body from the soles of her feet to the top of her head and backed away from the railings. She started to walk the deck she was on not knowing, or even caring, where she was going.

Margo saw other party goers headed her way and moved out of the way as they got closer. The three man didn't spare her a second glance as they passed and made their way towards one of a brace of elevators that ringed the ship.

The doors closed and their loud laughter was cut off.

She carried on in the direction she was pointed.

As she walked she found herself thinking about her family; they hadn't wanted her to go. They said that the trip was going to be no good for her. She should just stay home and be happy with the way that her life had been.

Maybe they had been right.

But she had wanted more.

It had bee the first time that she had openly disobeyed her parents wishes and, she had to admit, it had felt good. Felt right.

A door opened ahead of her and a rush of bodies came spilling out pushing her against a wall. She watched as they made their way to the railings and stood there excitedly pointing out to sea.

She moved further down till she found a clear space and looked to where they were looking.

At first she didn't know what was going on, what the fuss was about. All she saw was a black sky. Then it happened.

A firework.

At least that was she thought it was. At first.

The red streak went up in a graceful arc and then just when it should have burst it didn't. When it reached a certain height it started to fall back towards the sea. But it didn't go out…it got brighter.

It wasn't a firework. It was a signal flare, a ship in distress somewhere out there in the dark.

Seconds later there came the sound of a horn that seemed to emanate from all parts of the ship at once. She felt rather than heard the massive turbines start to wind down to a stop.

The ship was going to stop and render assistance if they could.

'Ship reads all stop sir.'

Captain McBride turned from the windows to look at his crew.

'O.k. people, let's see if we can do some good here.'

He strode over to the large command chair that occupied the centre of the room and reached down for the handset that hung on the side. He clicked it and spoke with authority into it.

'Mr. Hobbs?'

The voice that came back to him was magnified so much that he had to move the handset away from him a little.

'Mr. Hobbs, could you get a launch ready please. It seems that there may be some people that need our help.'

'Yes sir, right away.'

McBride put the handset back and relaxed back into the chair.

If anything this crew was sharp. He was confident that they could handle anything that would be thrown at them. He was sure that whoever was in distress would be fine in no time flat.


	3. Chapter 3 :Discovery

'I don't care what the captain said, one of my men WILL be coming with you!'

Martin stared at the man who had just had the gall to try and tell him his job. The man, to his credit, said nothing; just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

'If you want to make a big deal out of this, then pick up the phone and call him.'

The officer, who's name tag read Hobbs, looked at the phone then back at Martin. He looked at the phone once more and then seemed to cave-in on himself, taking a step back from the older man. The universal sign of surrender.

'Yeah…that's what I thought.'

Ghost appeared in front of the five or six people standing there.

He was dressed in waterproof trousers and light jacket, heavy duty boots completing the outfit. No-one but Martin noticed the tell-tale bulge under the left armpit. He knew what was there and knew that Ghost wouldn't have taken it if he hadn't sensed trouble was brewing. The Russian made semi-automatic was small enough to be unobtrusive but powerful enough, with the right load, to drop a charging rhino.

He nodded to the team member and Ghost stepped unto the launch.

He stepped back and let the rest of the crew to board the small vessel.

As soon as everyone was seated a section of the ship opened up and the launch swung out on an intricate pulley system. Small but powerful motors set the boat into the water and the clamps that held it in place disengaged. As soon as the boat hit the water it started towards where the flare had come from, two powerful outboard engines slicing it through the waves.

Martin took one last look at Mitch and the other man bobbed his head lightly in reply patting the side of his ribs, the side of his coat that concealed the weapon.

There wouldn't be any trouble, not if he had anything to say about it.

Martin stood in the now empty bay as the launch powered out of sight. He knew that he had picked the right team member for the job; Ghost had a reputation for being cool under pressure. If the time came to where he had to take command of the mission then he could do it to the best of his abilities…which were extensive.

Martin took one last look at the now distant vessel, trying without success to shake the feeling that he had, then stepped back into the warmth of the Leviathan.

Ghost watched as the team leader stepped back out of view, none of the other crew spoke or moved as the launch rolled over and through wave after wave towards their destination.

He didn't mind; he had always preferred his own company, always would, he was a loner at heart.

There had been a time when others had counted on him and it had gone wrong. People had counted on him to make the hard decisions and he made the wrong ones…people had died.

He was young, he was confident he knew everything.

He was wrong.

Since that time he had worked to be the best that he could conceivably be. So when the time came he wouldn't get it wrong again.

He shook himself from his sombre thoughts and looked around.

There were five other people onboard other than himself; along with a senior officer and a man several ranks under him. The rest were made up of deckhands picked for the job.

All of them, as far as he was aware, had some form of medical training. The two seniors were even rumoured to have had some rudimentary weapons training.

There were to his surprise several weapons on the launch. There were two shotguns, used on the voyage for skeet shooting plus a harpoon gun under the bench where he was seated.

He caught the eye of one of the crew but the man looked quickly away not wanted to hold his stare. He allowed himself a small smile at the mans discomfort, if only he knew how dangerous the stranger really was.

Behind him the Leviathan still looked huge but he could no longer see the figures o the decks on top.

Ahead of them, somewhere n the dark was an as yet unidentified ship with person or persons unknown in some sort of crisis. An engine out maybe, or something more serious.

I his experience that was not nearly enough to go on. Next to nothing in fact, but it was just these circumstances that he had been trained for.

As he continued to watch a shape started to materialize out of the darkness ahead.

He reached into a pocket of his jacket and placed the small unwound the length of cable there placing the separate components where they belonged. When he was done he gently tapped the light S.E.A.L communications unit once and spoke quietly into the microphone.

'Can you hear me boss?'

Martin, back an the larger ship tapped his own unit.

'Loud and clear. Sit-rep over?'

'Don't know yet. Wait one over.'

Ghost looked at the shape ahead of him bobbing gently in the water.

After a quick circuit of the boat they powered down the launch and drifted towards one of the towering sides of the ship. He was familiar with the majority of the worlds ships designs but this one was unlike any he had seen before.

The dual white hulls were maybe three hundred feet long, the railing thirty or so feet above their heads. He couldn't see any movement above but he could just make out several parabolic dishes pointing skywards. There was no way, as yet, of scaling the ship.

As he looked closer he noticed small features that he hadn't seen earlier; smoke damage and what looked like scorch marks reaching down towards the waterline. Closer to the deck level there appeared to be a series of small holes set totally at random.

Bullet holes.

He tapped the unit again and relayed what he had seen to Martin. After a lengthy conversation he stood and looked around the launch.

'Okay people, this is how it's going to work.'

He pulled the pistol from underneath his jacket and racked the slide priming a round.

Everyone sat back further.

'I trust that I have your complete and undivided attention as of this moment?'

Every pair of eyes looked towards the officer at the controls. He shook his head not trusting himself to speak. Ghost returned the motion with his widest, friendliest grin.

'Glad to hear it.'

He motioned with the pistol to the spear gun and then to a tightly wound coil of rope.

'Let's see what we can do to help shall we?'

It took only several minutes to fire the rope over the side of the ship. They pulled and the bent harpoon hooked over the railings.

It took Ghost only a few seconds to scramble up the side and drop lightly on to the decking.

After a quick check to see that he was alone he unhooked the rope and through the rope ladder over the side that he found nearby.

He shouted down for two others. The others stayed on the boat below.

As the other two appeared over the side he pulled the gun clear of his jacket once more telling the others to follow close.

They had gone just twenty feet round one of the stacks when he called a stop pulling the small boarding party up short.

Ahead of him lay a large expanse of decking; black splashes of what could have been paint covering everything that he could see. It could have been paint. He knew that it wasn't. Knew that the two crewman couldn't avoid seeing it as they rounded the corner behind him.

As if on cue a light shone over his shoulder and lit up the area.

'Jesus!'

Ghost span on his heel and grabbed the man by the shoulders, pulling him close until their faces almost touched.

'Suck it up pal! We got a job to do. Let's do it. Quietly!'

The other man, Fredericks was his name, nodded slowly and lifted the shotgun that he carried trying as quietly as he could he chambered a round. The guns were only loaded with small lead shot, not solid, but it would be strong enough to stop any soft targets that happened to come their way.

Ghost pointed at the man with the light and took it from him freeing the man hands to use the other shotgun strapped across his back.

'Stay here, watch our backs ok?'

The man was only too willing to cooperate.

He indicated a direction with the beam and they fell into step behind him with only the slightest hesitation.

Fredericks walked behind him gun in the air. He wasn't happy about the arrangement but it was better than the alternative.

If he fired the gun behind him it would only be a wasted round, if he fired it in front it may just waste a survivor.

That was not going to happen.

They stopped at the first closed door they came across and Ghost positioned himself in front of the door. As quietly as he could he pushed down on the handle and the hatch opened soundlessly on well oiled hinges. He shone the light into the darkened corridor inside.

He froze for only the second time in his life.

He thought he had seen all the atrocities that man could commit in the world but this, this was something else.

Ghost swallowed with a mouth suddenly gone bone dry.

The hallway stretched on for quite a way, the light from the torch beam not nearly reaching the full length. He stared at a random patch of white wall, the original colour of the hallway he guessed. Now it was the deep arterial red of spilt blood.

Gallon upon gallon of it.

The walls, the ceiling even the floor was awash with the fluid.

Something had happened here, and very recently. They had missed it by mere hours he calculated.

It ran down the walls and off the ceiling in thick runnels, splashing wetly onto the floor.

Ghost stepped back a pace as the torch caught something in its beam.

About thirty feet in, just at the very edge of the lights reach he saw a bundle of clothing on the floor seemingly throw there as if the person left inn a great hurry, not worrying where they threw them.

That was what he thought it was…at first glance. Then he managed to see more.

He saw the arm sticking out from a ragged sleeve.

He saw the hand at the end of the wrist.

The stumps of the still bloody fingers that were missing, tendons and muscle that littered the floor all around.

He saw what squatted there in the ruins of a human life feeding on the remains, sucking the marrow from a splintered bone like a rabid dog.

'MOVE!'

Ghost turned and literarily pushed the other man ahead of him, back in the direction from where they had come.

Ghost moved along right on his heel. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds. Now he was moving what he had seen burned on to his retinas. They ran the full length of the deck and shad almost made it back to the railings when they came across something that stopped both men dead in their tracks.

Ghost heard as the shotgun clattered to the floor at his feet. He heard rather than saw the crewman fall to his knees.

Ghost found that he couldn't move…could hardly breath. Felt the tension start to build in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the emotion was, hadn't felt it for a number of years.

Fear.

He could just watch as the scene in front of him played out.

His arm seemed to move of its own accord, the light playing over the jumble of figures that were there, they jostled each other for position making it hard for Ghost to count their number with any accuracy.

They moved with a dreadful purpose, fighting each other for the choicest parts of the bloodied tattered remains that lay on the deck.

There wasn't a great deal left.

He snapped out of his revulsion at the act of barbarism and inhuman eating in front of him and brought his gun up to bear on the nearest figure. He pulled the trigger.

The man, if you could call it a man, took the round high in the shoulder pushing him down on to the feasting figures around him, spraying a few of the others with gore.

It turned and growled low and menacing through clenched, bloody teeth…strips of flesh hanging from his mouth.

Ghost readjusted and fired twice more. Both rounds hit where he had aimed; the bullets entering centre- mass. The holes as they entered were small the exits were larger tearing huge chunks of meat from the mans back.

He got slowly to his feet and took a shuddering step towards Ghost who could only stare back in awe and amazement. The first shot should have put the man down at the very least. Either of the second or third should have been fatal in themselves. He lifted the pistol and fired again and again, the rounds tearing huge bloodless holes in the figures torso. He fired the final round directly at the mans head, that put him down. The figure twitched once and then stopped moving altogether.

He holstered the now empty gun under his armpit, not having any more ammunition for it. He had not come over here expecting a fire-fight.

He reached down and scooped up the man on the floor with one hand and the discarded shotgun with the other.

He pushed Fredericks towards the railings and then immediately pumped the slide of the larger weapon

And fired into the group that had come to their feet and had started to advance on his position.

It didn't put any of them down but it did blind a couple of them slowing their forward momentum. He checked to see that the other man had disappeared over the side of the ship and made his way to whyere he had been, keeping his front to the horde.

He racked the slide again to chamber another shell.

It jammed.

He turned the gun around and brought it around in a wide arc that connected against the skull of another man that had crept close.

He turned and grabbed the railing and, taking a moment to make sure that he wouldn't hit the launch below, lifted himself up on to the railing.

A moments distraction was all that it took.

He felt teeth sink onto his wrist and clamp down, hard. His foot slipped from the smooth surface and he heard rather than felt two of his ribs cracked. He fell back on the deck, a weight across his legs. He felt a sharp pain in his thigh and knew that teeth had sunk in there too.

He bucked and twisted and the figure was suddenly gone. He clamped his good hand to the wound on his wrist, blood flowing freely through his fingers.

Without thinking he stood and jumped away from the others that had started to gather around him, screaming all the way down until his body hit the water thirty feet below. He hit hard and awkward, landing heavily on his side knocking the wind from his lungs. He took a huge breath and swallowed nothing but sea water.

He knew at that moment that he was going to die; his arm was screaming in agony and he didn't have the strength to pull himself back onboard the launch that floated only a few feet away.

He resigned himself to his fate and started to sink towards the dark depths below him.

Strong hands reached down and wrapped themselves around his arms and pulled him back to the surface, pulling him over the side of the smaller ship and dumping him unceremoniously over the seats near the back.

Blood from his torn wrist started to pool in the bottom of the vessel mixing with the seawater that streamed from his soaked clothing. The wound had just missed the artery but the bleed ing was bad. It had to be stopped and soon.

He squeezed the torn wrist once more with the last of his fading strength and his ribs screamed in protest…something was torn inside. He groaned loudly as he prepared to pass out.

The last thing he heard was the sound of raised voices trying to compete with the growling engines as they powered back towards the larger vessel somewhere off in the night.

'Shot the damn thing…'

'Full of holes…!'

'It was dead man, had to be…'

'What the fu…!'

Ghost passed out with the roar of hungry voices in his mind, a picture of rabid human shaped animals burned into his mind.


	4. Chapter 4 :Blood

'Okay, what the HELL happened over there!'

Martin strode up and down in the captains cabin like a caged lion. An angry, caged lion.

The captain looked over his desk at the man pacing the floor in front of him and opened his mouth to say the words that were forming in his mind. He stopped just short though and closed his mouth, not sure how to start.

'Mr. Phillips please sit.'

Martin stopped his pacing and stared at the older man. The captain inched further back in his seat.

He composed himself almost immediately.

'I was ordered to take you and your team on this voyage as security for the passengers and their belongings. What happens when people leave the safety of this vessel is beyond either yours or even my control. So, please, let us be civil, yes?'

Martin stormed over closer to the seated man.

'What are you…'

The captain held up his hand stopping Martin in mid sentence.

'I am not unsympathetic to what has happened. But my duty must be to the continued safety of this ship and the people on it.'

Martin sat down heavily in the padded chair opposite the captain, sighing deeply.

'I understand captain, and I agree. But we must do something about that other ship. We must inform someone. I personally would like to take my team across and waste whoever or whatever is over there.'

The captain leant across the wooden expanse and deposited the half-full whiskey glass in front of him.

'It's being handled even as we speak. I contacted the authorities myself. They are sending in troops to secure the ship. They will contact me as soon as they find out what happened. Good enough?'

Martin picked up the glass and downed the amber liquid in it in two hearty swallows. He put it, empty, back on to the wooden top in front of him.

'I suppose it will have to be. For now.'

He stood and started to make his way to the door.

The captain leaned back into his chair, his own drink untouched before him.

'How is your man?'

Martin reached out and grabbed the handle with one hand.

'The doc said he is running a fever, a virus of some kind. He should be alright in a few days. Let me worry about him.'

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway before the other man could say anything else. He started in the direction of the elevators and, ultimately, the surgery.

The doctors words from earlier still ringing through his mind from earlier. He had used words like 'unusual' and 'strange'. But the sentence that had effected him had been, 'never seen anything like it before'.

That had worried him more than anything else.

He stopped at the first lift he came to and pressed the call button. He felt the shaft vibrate gently as the car came to him. He leaned against the wall and waited patiently for it to arrive.

When they had bought Mitch in he had been awake but rambling.

He talked about monsters that looked like men, about blood and carnage. He had been wild and almost uncontrollable as they placed him on a gurney and wheeled him into the bowels of the ship. Even with the injuries that he had sustained it still took three people to hold him down. At least the wound on his arm had stopped bleeding. The doctor commented on his strength even after he had lost so much blood.

It was in those moments of struggle that he had said other things.

He raved about men that wouldn't die no matter how many shots you put into them. He talked of bodies torn limb from limb and thrown all over the ship.

Martin was shocked at the words but ultimately had believed every word. He had known the man for too long to know when he was lying.

This wasn't one of those times.

The lift arrived and he stepped in, absently pressing the button for the floor that he wanted.

He just hoped and prayed that the man would be ok.

When they had put him into a bed in the surgery he had been pale. Almost deathly so.

His forearm discoloured and ragged due to the bite that he had sustained. The wound had looked raw, the infection starting to spread from it up his arm towards his elbow; veins standing out in stark contrast under his pale skin.

All of the team had been there when the launch had arrived back to its berth. Ricardo had jumped on board even before the vessel had come to a complete stop. He bent low and scooped the other man up in his arms like he weighed nothing. He carried him up to where the ships medical personnel had been waiting.

After a thorough exam and a full set of bloods, the doctor, with all of his extensive training, had declared that he hadn't had the slightest idea of what was wrong with him.

He had ordered the rest of the team from the infirmary and had gone to do more tests.

Martin got out of the elevator and stalked down the hallway, nodding to anybody that he passed on the way.

He walked through the door to the waiting lounge and wasn't surprised to see the rest of them still there. He nodded to each in turn greeting them.

'Boss', said Ricardo, his t-shirt still wet with sea water and the blood of his colleague.

Marco nodded his usual stoic greeting.

Sandra threw herself at him and hugged him so hard that she nearly popped his eyeballs from their sockets. She had taken it the worst of all of them.

He knew that she and Ghost had been romantically involved. Some team leaders frowned upon fraternisation with members, but they hadn't been in the teams now for a long time.

He hugged her back. She could be the meanest woman that anyone could ever meet but she had a gentler side that no-one outside the team had seen.

He eased her away and looked gently into her eyes.

She took several huge breaths and nodded her head lightly. He nodded back and let go of her shoulders. He turned around just as the door opened and the ships doctor came into the room.

The man was small and thin, his frame indeterminate under a long white lab coat. Wire frames perched on a nose just a fraction too long covering hazel eyes. His salt and pepper hair was combed back from a high intellectual forehead.

Martin noticed that the man favoured his right side, his right hand thrust deep into his coat.

The four people stood in a loose semi-circle around the other man.

'Ah, yes. I would like to talk with you if I may Mr. Phillips.'

Martin looked at the other man and craned his neck forward.

'I have no secrets from my friends doctor. Please whatever you have to say you can say in front of them.'

The doctor forced his way through the figures in his way and sat down on one of the couches that dotted the waiting room. He took a deep sign and then told them.

'The news isn't good I'm afraid. Your friend got worse after you left earlier.'

Ricardo stepped forward and would have pulled the man forcefully to his feet had Marco not put a hand on his arm to halt him in his tracks.

Martin took a step towards the doctor instead.

'In lay terms doctor. Don't stop until I tell you to.'

'O…Okay. Basically your friend, well it's hard to describe, but, well…'

Ricardo shrugged off the arm that held him and grabbed the mans coat. As he pulled him to his feet the mans hand came out from his coat pocket.

The hand was wrapped in a blood soaked bandage. The doctor put the injured hand back where it came from.

'That's part of it I guess. He woke up about an hour ago and just went crazy. He lashed out and caught me in the ribs with his boot and then took a chunk out of my hand and bit two of the nurses. We tried to knock him out but nothing that I had worked.'

He stood and wincing at the pain that he had in his side reached out for the door handle again. He hung his head as he pushed the door inwards, the light in the hallway beyond very muted.

'Follow me, but be warned. The man that you are about to see isn't your friend anymore. He stepped into the hallway.

Martin took a look around at the others and then followed the doctor into the hallway.

The rest quickly followed as well.

The doctor lead them down a long straight hallway, doors on either side. He walked to the far end and opened another door and stepped out of view to the right, leaving it open so they could follow.

Martin was the first into the new room and so was the first to see what was there.

Glass stretched from waist height to the ceiling. Beyond was a room that was in total darkness.

The doctor placed his hand on a light switch on the wall and turned to Martin and the others that were now gathered.

'You sure about this?'

Martin nodded and the doctor, with a heavy sigh, flicked the toggle.

The room lit up and everyone could see the destruction that had been visited on it.

The single bed that had been in the centre of the room had been thrown across the length of it. It lay overturned, the bed clothes strewn all over the floor, against the far wall. The electrical equipment used to monitor a patient was in several pieces throughout the room; the metal post that it was usually connected to actually imbedded into one of the walls.

Blood spots dotted the floor in several places and rivulets ran slowly down the glass.

Standing in the middle of the room was Ghost, or rather a wild, uncontrolled version of what had once been the man that they had all known. As they all watched he let out an inhuman scream and charged the widow. Everybody except the doctor took an involuntary step back as the man hit the barrier hard and bounced off, leaving another smear of blood on it.

Sandra threw her hand over her mouth and ran from the room, unable to see anymore.

Martin advanced on the glass and the figure on the other side copied his movements.

'What the hell?'

Ghost was looking much worse; the skin on his face split and leaking pus and blood from the wound that he had sustained from the impact with the window. His eyes were wild and staring, the pupils fading from the black of what they once were to a milky white. He threw his fist against the glass splitting the knuckles on the hand. His clothing was torn and bloodied

The doctor flipped the toggle again and the room dropped back into darkness.

Martin turned and pushed the man up against the wall.

'We need to talk. NOW!'

He propelled the man towards the office and, with Ricardo in tow, followed the doctor through another door. The bangs and thumps of fists and body on glass following them as they went.

With the big man blocking any chance of escape and Martin right in his face, the doctor felt more trapped than he could ever remember.

'Say that again, and this time make sense man.'

The smaller man looked up at Martin.

'As I've already said, the virus seems to be symbiotic in nature. It slows the bodily functions to almost imperceptible lows whilst still allowing it to function an the most basic of levels.'

He reached into a draw on his desk and drew out a packet of cigarettes. Without offering his 'guests' any he lit one and took a deep breath before continuing.

'The heart beats maybe once every ten minutes or so effectively zeroing its output, his internal temperature is barely above the room that he is in and his pupils, when I managed to check them, were dilated and unresponsive. But, although he has these symptoms, things that should make him, less than mobile, should we say, it has had the opposite effect. He is stronger and faster than he was. That is what is truly impossible.'

He took another long pull on the tube in his mouth.

'Aside from a couple of minor things, I would say that your friend is dead.'

Ricardo moved away from the door, Martin stopped him with a wave of his hand.

'He can't be dead. He is in there moving around. HOW THE HELL IS THAT DEAD!'

He looked at the other man as he squirmed away from him. He leant down and put both his hands on the arm rests.

'What do you know? What can we use?'

'It's viral, we know that.'

Martin leaned in closer.

'How is it spread? Is it contagious?'

'I don't know. Please, I don't know anything else. I didn't have the time. I don't know what to do.'

Martin turned away from the man and walked towards the door, Ricardo stepped out of the way to let him pass. The big man pointed at the doctor in his chair, his finger and arm ram-rod straight.

'Don't make me come looking for you.'

He turned and followed Martin back out into the darkened corridor


	5. Chapter 5 :Dire situations

Scott pushed through the large double doors into the bright, strobe lights and floor shaking, almost ear splitting music of one of the ships several clubs.

It was only eleven in the evening and the party was still in full swing, just louder and in a different location.

He made his way through the crush of gyrating, sweat drenched bodies in his way and headed for the bar, a smile still splitting his face from ear to ear.

What a woman!

Crystal had shown him things that he had only dreamt of, and a few things that he had only seen.

Things that he would have to remember.

They had blown each other away, he couldn't remember another night with any woman that had even come close to tonight.

Then, when it was over, being the gentleman that he had pretended to be, he had accompanied her to her cabin. It was on the way that things had got a little strange.

It was as they neared her cabin that they had happened across the woman in the nurses uniform laying slumped against one of the corridor walls. As they had moved to help she had had a fit of some kind, or more probably a seizure.

Her whole body had shaken from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet; her legs and arms straitening ramrod straight. Her whole body bathed in a light sheen of sweat. Her hand lashed out and her nails had first sliced across the arm of the other woman and then buried themselves into Scott's arm.

Scott, out of impulse, pulled the hand from his arm and had immediately gathered Crystal from where she had fallen. They had carried on their way and left the woman where she lay sprawled now on the floor, presuming that she had been nothing more than just another drunken party-goer in fancy-dress.

Let someone else deal with her, she wasn't their problem.

They had carried on their way until finally they had arrived at her cabin.

Scott had left her with the promise that she clean the wound at the earliest opportunity and to seek help if she needed it. She had complied and, with a last lingering kiss, had closed the door.

On his way back to his own cabin he had gone past the spot where the other woman had been laying.

Apart from a small, dark stain on the carpet on the floor, there had been no sign of her.

He decided that he wasn't tired after all and had gone in search of some more 'entertainment'.

He had walked for what seemed like ages until he had come across the club that he now found himself in.

He walked up to a gap in the throng gathered around the bar and ordered himself a beer. He took two deep pulls from the frosted bottle and looked around the room.

He saw plenty of opportunities around, caught the eye of more than a few admiring glances.

Oh yes, plenty of scope for action. Plenty of time to sleep later. That was if he could get rid of the headache that was forming.

James stared at Jodie and she stared straight back at him.

They had been dancing almost cheek to cheek for an hour now and they both knew that the moment had almost arrived.

He moved his head forward and down towards her slightly parted lips for a taste of that first electrical kiss that starts all relationships. She tilted her head up slightly in response.

They were a hairs breath away from each other.

A figure stumbled through the doors that were dancing near and thumped into them both, pushing James away and knocking Jodie to the floor.

They both landed heavily tangled up in each other.

James opened his eyes. It took him a moment to realise that the girl was no longer in front of him. Surprise was replaced with momentary anger when he saw her on the floor at his feet.

He bent down on one knee and reached for the shoulders of the squirming figure, absently wondering for just a moment why they were wearing what appeared to be a lab coat, the kind of coat that a doctor or medical person would wear.

He pulled them to their feet and swung them away to his side.

He looked back down to where his girlfriend was laying. His eyes wide and staring.

In the effects from the overhead lights he saw the girls shirt torn open down one side, plastered to her in what 0looked to be her blood. It pumped freely from a huge gash in skin suddenly gone too pale.

He saw what appeared to be teeth marks in the bubbling fluid and then they were gone. He wasn't sure that they had even been there at all.

He sank to his knees, hardly feeling his legs impact with the hardwood floor as he placed his hands over the torn body in an attempt to stop the flow of blood that was worryingly failing to stop.

He noticed distantly that she had almost stopped thrashing around o the floor, her breathing shallow and very ragged.

He didn't hear the commotion behind him; calls of anger, alarm and surprise over the still pounding music.

Her body fell suddenly limp under his hands as he watched, her eyes glazing over.

None of the other revellers around them noticed anything.

Scott saw that there was a situation forming at the rear of the club.

There seemed to be some sort of fight going on back there. He saw other people moving forwards but stayed where he was.

Being the conscientious person that he was he downed the rest of the beer in the bottle and placed the empty on the bar.

He didn't want to get involved.

As the doors closed behind him he failed to hear that the shouting had changed to sounds of alarm.

At least the scratch on his arm didn't hurt anymore.

The music drowned out all noise.

Martin sent Marco to check if the captain had had any other news on the vessel that they had found and then he and Ricardo had gone back in to find the doctor.

Sandra had disappeared from view. Probably gone back to her cabin.

The two men went back through the door and continued down the darkened hallway in the direction of the doctors office.

They got as far as the observation room and then all thought of the doctor vanished from their thoughts.

The room was the same; the destruction within still as they had left it. But then they saw what was different.

The door that had been closed was now swinging silently open on well oiled hinges, a bloody handprint halfway up the only thing to break its stark whiteness.

The other fact, the one that stopped both men in their tracks, the fact that they tried and failed to comprehend.

Ghost was gone.

'What the hell!'

Ricardo stormed into the room, hand under his jacket, palm resting on the handle of the eighteen inch combat knife that he always kept there. He noticed that the team leader also came in behind him although he was unarmed.

Martin stepped in something that gave wetly under his shoe and he lifted his leg to see what it was.

The single finger wore a large amber ring, the manicured nail red and vibrant under the bright lights.

Ricardo saw it a split second later and backed up a step.

Both men backed out of the room and back into the corridor. They continued on their way to the doctors office more aware now than when they had been upon first entering the hallway.

The rest of the journey was uneventful; no ghost, no-one else in the area.

They saw another door at the end of the hall they were in, a door that they hadn't noticed before, steps leading up into another part of the ship. The door swung easily with the gentle rocking of the vessel.

They slowed down as they approached the doctors door, noticing that there seemed to be a light on inside and someone there.

Martin took up position at one side of the door, Ricardo on the other.

Silently the older man held up his hand and make several swift gestures with his fingers. The big man nodded and crouched down low.

They entered the office almost at the same time.

They froze.

The revolver that the doctor held wavered only slightly. The barrel pointed at them as they stood framed in the doorway.

'You're…here then, co…come in.'

The two men could see that the doctor was in a bad way; the colour having drained from a face that was bathed in sweat. They stayed where they were.

'Doc, what's going on?'

The doctor lowered the gun slightly but his gaze never left Martins.

'It's too late, much…too l…late. We are in…in hell.'

Martin inched forwards the motion so slight as to be almost unseen. The doctors gun lowered another half an inch, the finger that held the trigger slackening ever so slightly.

'Talk to me doc, tell me what's happened?'.

He slid closer still now barely three feet away from the man where he sat in the chair.

Almost within touching distance.

'You can't st…stop them, can't stop…it!'

The doctors eyes suddenly became clear, his hold on the gun becoming firmer, more forceful.

'You can't win.'

He turned the gun and jammed it in the soft flesh under his chin.

'You have to shoot them in the head.'

With those final words he pulled the trigger sending a spray of blood and brains onto the wall behind him, the bullet angling up to thud into the ceiling above him.

Martin was getting ready to move as the gun went off. Now he found himself unable to take a step towards the body.

Ricardo shouted in the doorway behind him as he stood there. He whirled around and saw what appeared to be a woman hanging on to the big mans back. As he watched her head darted forwards and she sank her teeth into his cheek. With a twist of her head she pulled back, tearing loose a flap of wet, glistening flesh from his face. Martin rushed forward and pushed the woman off his friends back. As she sailed through the air, still chewing on the warm morsel in her mouth, he grabbed a hat stand that stood nearby and turned it so the wide base was in front of him, and more importantly, between him and the woman that was now in the hallway. Before he even had a chance to advance he heard a scream of rage from behind. Ricardo pushed his friend of so many years forcefully out of his way and rushed the woman. Martin saw the glint of light on steel as the other man pulled the knife from its hidden sheath. And then the whole thing buried itself in the hard plaster of the wall after exiting through the skull of the woman who had moments ago attacked. Ricardo grunted and stepped back.

The force of the thrust had been so fast, so strong that Martin found himself looking at the woman as she hung a full two feet off the floor.

Martin took a moment longer to look at the now limp, lifeless body and then turned to Ricardo.

The big man leant up against the opposite wall, head tilted towards the ceiling, hands hanging limply at his sides. He started towards him.

Ricardo held up one massive hand palm out to stop him. He turned his head and spat a mouthful of blood unto the floor.

'Don't. Just stay there.'

Martin froze, feeling the moisture start to well in his eyes.

'I can feel it already, it burns.'

He moved his back from the wall and headed in the direction of the other door. He stopped just before it and turned his head sideways. He watched Martin from the corner of his eye.

'Get help, save everyone you can, I'll see what I can do.'

He stepped through the door and pulled with all his strength. The door surround splintered as the solid panel jammed into it.

Martin ran up to the door and pulled as hard as he could. It was no good.

He reached up a hand and thumped on the door.

He rested his head on the cool wood.

'God speed my friend.'

He turned and ran full speed back to where they had come from.


	6. Chapter 6 :From bad to worse

Able' drink fuelled brain registered the side of the bed that his young wife slept on bow under the weight of added pressure.

He opened his eyes the merest of a fraction and turned his head.

He saw the shadow of a woman next to him and turned back, confident that Crystal had come back to bed.

He rolled over on his back and raised his hands over his head.

He felt the figure slide across and straddle him. Her reassuring bulk resting on his stomach, he moaned quietly in his semi-unconscious state, shifting his bulk to get more comfortable.

He felt manicured nails scrape against his chest sending minute electric shocks through his whole body. He moaned again.

He felt the light brush of hair start near his sternum and move slowly up his torso, finally coming to rest on his chest.

He moaned again, louder.

He felt the brush of rough lips in the tangle of hair between his pectoral muscles.

Almost fully awake now he suddenly felt warmth where the woman's head rested, then the pain..

He shot up on the bed, ramrod straight and slapped his hand down on the light that he knew was next to it.

Light flooded the room.

The woman on top of him was flung to one side as he straightened up.

At first, in the suddenly too-bright room, he had a hard time trying to figure out what he was seeing, but then his muddled mind cleared and he could see all too clearly.

The blood on the sheets that lay tangled all around, the ragged tear on his chest; crimson fluid still leaking freely from it.

Crystal on her side next to him, chewing almost leisurely on the piece of bloody flesh in her mouth.

He felt the scream rising in the pit of his stomach threatening to tear loose from his lungs. All he managed was a weak whimper, a barely heard gurgle.

Crystal looked over at him where he sat.

She smiled through the meat still in her mouth, rivulets of blood running between her teeth and dripped off the tip of her chin.

Martin tore onto the bridge and nearly ran into the captain as he paced the room.

He pulled up just short of the collision and strained to catch his breath.

Just before he had entered he heard what could have only been an explosion below decks. It had been muffled and low, but he could have determined the sound anywhere. The ships turbines had begun their slow wind-down until the ship was coasting through the water instead of powering through it as it had been moments before.

The captain backed-up a step and looked at the red-faced man as he stood gasping for breath in front of him.

Martin recovered first.

'What the hell is going on! I have heard and seen things that need an explanation, and that needs to be now!'

The captain sat down at his chair and stared out into the blue ocean beyond the windows.

'I don't know what to tell you Mr. Phillips; we have lost contact with the engine room. Earlier there was an…altercation I one of the large clubs and I sent a few men to see what was happening. I haven't heard from them since.'

He stood and turned on the new arrival, his jaw clenched, eyes wide.

'I don't know what the hell is happening on board my own ship. What the hell do we do!'

Martin grabbed the mans lapels in a moment of anger and thrust him up against one of the metal walls.

'Get your shit together! I need you to…calm…down!'

McBride visibly relaxed in his grip and Martin loosened his hold on him.

Behind him a couple of the bridge crew had taken several steps towards him, one even reaching for a pair of heavy binoculars that were hanging nearby.

Martin turned his head slightly and stopped both men with a look.

He turned back to the captain.

'First things first…where the hell is my man? I sent him to check on you.'

'Nobodies been up here until you arrived.'

Sandra ran full stretch down the hallway, her hair streaming behind her.

She wasn't sure where she was going but she had been running for a while. She had seen what had become of her lover and couldn't handle it.

She thought that she could have but, well, it hadn't worked out like that at all.

She stopped for a breath and rested her long, lithe body against the cool corridor walls.

That was when she heard the sound.

It was so low at first that she thought it may have been I her mind.

Then she heard it again.

It started as a low moaning as if there was someone in pain or mourning. She lifted her head and tracked it to the air conditioning vent that was directly overhead. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere deep within the ship. In with the moaning where what sounding like screams.

Overlaying these sounds was another.

Crunching and the sounds of a wild animal or indeed animals feeding.

She felt herself being drawn towards the sounds and was even reaching up towards the grill when she heard another scream, this one coming from a room almost directly opposite where she now stood.

Sandra ran to the door and, without a moments hesitation, threw all her weight against the barrier in her way.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

There in front of her was a large, bare-chested man in his mid fifties, sitting up in an expansive bed a figure thrashing on top of him.

Sandra moved to the bed and grabbed the woman by the shoulders pulling her to one side.

The woman flew across the room and slammed against the wall. She heard the woman's neck break as she landed awkwardly.

She knelt down and looked at the man, the injury apparent on his chest. As she reached out to try and help she heard a groan behind her from the corner of the room.

She turned and could only stare as the other woman got back to her feet, her head hanging loosely on her shoulders, her eyes wild and staring at her from the shadows where the light just failed to reach.

Sandra stepped back into the hallway.

'Don't…don't leave me. Please!'

Able' voice followed her as she walked out the door.

The eyes of the dead woman swivelled to target him as he spoke. He tried to back himself up even further.

She took a faltering step towards him, her hands raising level with her chest. She started to drool, the spittle running from between her teeth.

Able raised his own arms in response, aware that there was nothing that he could do if she tried to attack him. He closed his eyes.

He felt rather than heard something whistle in front of his face. He opened his eyes just in time to see his wife's once beautiful face fly to one side with the rest of her head as it was separated from her shoulders. The body fell to one side as the spinal cord was severed.

He stood slowly and walked towards where it lay near the built-in cupboard of the room.

The eyes still tracked him as he moved forwards and the mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Sandra lifted her arms above her head and brought the axe that she had pulled from the wall outside down with all her might.

The edge of the blade caught what was left of Crystal on the crown of the head, neatly splitting the skull in two.

It stopped moving.

'Well', said Sandra. 'You don't see that everyday.

Able looked at her and took one step away from the blood smeared woman.

He threw up everything that he had eaten and drank on the floor of the expensive carpet under his feet.

'Marco, come in.'

Martin released the call button in his throat mike and waited for a response. He had been trying to raise his team now for an hour.

He paced the bridge as he tried again.

He couldn't believe how fast this day was turning to shit right before his damn eyes.

'Marco, respond.'

He hadn't tried Sandra yet, didn't know even if she had managed to get a hold of a radio. Neither of them had checked-in yet.

He knew that Ricardo was out there somewhere but knew that the big man could handle himself. He wasn't sure how long he had left but he did know that he wouldn't stop helping and doing what he could while he still had breath in his body.

Since the explosion in the engine room earlier it had been relatively quiet but Martin knew that it wouldn't last. Something with seriously wrong onboard this ship and it was just getting worse as the time wore on.

The captain had received some reports from a few of the crew but the majority were still missing, at the time they had a handle on maybe twenty or so bodies.

That was all.

Martin was worried for them but he was more worried for the rest of his team.

Sandra was somewhere on the ship; the last time he had seen her she had been running as fast as she could from the infirmary.

Ghost was dead, if the doctor was to be believed, and loose somewhere on a ship full of warm bodies.

Ricardo was infected but still, as far as Martin knew, fighting the good fight.

Marco was god-knows-where. He hadn't even arrived at the bridge when he had sent him earlier.

Martin stopped with the thoughts about his team.

There was something that he hadn't factored.

He didn't even know how many onboard were infected; how many were dead, how many left that he could even save.

'Damn it Marco! Answer me!'

He started pacing again.


	7. Chapter 7 :A bad scene

Marco tore down the hallway at full speed, the sounds of pursuit close behind.

He seemed to fly down the corridors, his feet hardly touching the floor, seeming instead to simply skim over the carpeted surface.

As he rounded the next corner ahead of him he saw another of the infected passengers in front of him, something wet, red and dripping held in one hand.

He ducked under the outstretched arms as they lifted up to grab at his fleeting figure. He felt his weight shift as he turned his body and thought he was going to fall. He knew if that happened then it would be all over in a matter of seconds.

He twisted as he fell forward and used the wall to his right as a flipper. He collided solidly with the painted surface and bounced back to his feet. He heard a scream of frustration behind him as his followers realised that their prey had escaped.

Marco allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, grateful that he had kept his body in the peak of physical fitness.

He ran faster.

As he ran he thought back to what had happened just a short hour ago.

He was walking quickly up the last hallway before the bridge, the large solid door just ahead of him. It opened and three men stepped out into the hall; two crew and an officer by the uniforms.

Marco stopped the officer as he walked past.

'What's going on?'

The officer pulled his hand from where it rested on his upper arm.

'Captain McBride said that there is trouble on one of the lower decks, he's sent us to check the situation.'

Marco looked at the other two men where they had come to a stop near the door to one of the stairways.

'O.K, lead on. Let's see what's up.'

The officer looked at the other man and looked like he was just about to say something but then his expression changed and he walked to where the men where.

Marco heard the noise behind him getting closer and put on more speed.

He absently rubbed the still-wet blood that coated his hands on his dark trousers.

He stood to one side of the large double doors and looked towards where the officer stood, mouth agape.

He thought that he had seen all the horrors that could have been visited on another human body but what he saw in the room in front of him was just beyond hellish.

The two crewmen were on their knees in front of him having gone in first. One was weeping lowly to himself, the other had his face in his hands not wanting to look at the horror that lay in piles all around him.

Marco took another look around the room spotting details that he hadn't noticed just a few minutes ago.

Bodies lay everywhere; things that belonged inside a body, objects that steamed and glistened in the flashing lights strewn across the floor.

A part of a liver, a heart. A torso that was missing its arms and legs, trunk emptied of all its internal organs.

The blood dripped down the walls and soaked the floor all the way to the other end of the large room.

'My…God. What…what?'

Marco turned his head and looked at the man that stood just the other side of the doors. He hadn't spoken since they had entered the room. For the first time in his life unable or rather unwilling to speak. He wasn't sure what would come out.

Suddenly one of the men, the one that had thrown up, got to his feet and started forwards.

'There…did you see that?'

He slid across the floor through the gore and blood and dropped to one knee next to the prone form of a woman in a torn and bloody dress. He reached out a hand and turned her gently so that she was on her back.

'She's alive! I need some…'

He never finished the sentence.

The woman that he had turned seemed to fold at the waist, shooting up into a sitting position. Her mouth opened and fastened over his, biting down and twisting her head sharply to one side.

The man flew backwards at the unexpected attack and landed on the floor amongst the torn, mutilated bodies there.

His hands reached for his ruined face, gently probing the torn, lacerated cheek, the space where his lips used to be. He started to choke on the blood that suddenly filled his mouth and ran down his throat.

The other men could only look on in horror as figures started to rise from the shadows at the rear of the room.

Hundreds of eyes shone wetly, staring at the intruders to their feast. Teeth that were coated in gore and strips of red flesh gnashing in anticipation.

Marco started to reach towards the crewman on the floor in front of him.

The officer to his side starting to back away from where he stood.

His hand stopped just short of touching the figure on its knees and he could only watch in dismay as the tide of bodies from the club seemed to wash over the unfortunate, mutilated man further in.

As he took a step towards the man still with his head in his hands a shadow darted from a darkened corner of the room.

Marco looked at the end of his fingertips, the man that was just out of reach gone.

Just gone.

He stood and kicked-out at another figure that ran at him. The tip of his combat boot connecting sharply with the point of their chin. It's head snapped back and it went down.

Marco started to back up to the relative safety of the corridor behind him, the man that he had kicked already getting back to their feet seemingly unhurt from a hit that should have kept it down, the doors already swinging closed from the passage of the retreating officer.

He slammed the doors the rest of the way and wrenched one of the guard rails off its mountings on the wall threatening it through both handles on the doors.

He stepped back as the doors bowed outwards stopped only by the brass pole. The doors swung back and then outwards once more as the mass of bodies on the other side pressed against them.

It wouldn't hold for long, it started to bend out at an alarming rate.

Marco looked around in an attempt to find the other man that should have been there.

He was nowhere to be seen. He heard the click of a door as it latched shut.

He moved to the other side of the hall and tried the door there. Locked.

He rattled the door handle as he heard movement on the other side.

'Go away!'

Marco pounded on the wood with his fists.

'OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!'

The man on the other side said something that he didn't quite catch but the door stayed firmly closed to him.

He turned and, wondering just for a second if the person on the other side of the door was the missing officer, ran down the hallway away from the club and the dead inside.

He stopped at the first corner he came to and tried to figure out where he was. He put his hands on the wall and closed his eyes.

Where his hands touched there was a tacky sensation. He opened lifted his eyes to look at the wall and noticed for the first time that the surface was running red right in front of him.

The blood ran slowly down the wall.

He stepped away and, not caring where he was going, ran. He rounded the corner almost at the same time as the pole he had put through the door gave way.

Marco reached down to the small radio that he had clipped to his belt. It had come from a dead body of another crewman that he had happened across in his race across the huge ship. He pressed the transmit button.

'Boss? Anybody?'

All he received back was static.

He looked down at the small plastic body of the radio and stared in dismay at the large crack in the back of the unit. He must be getting tired, he hadn't noticed it before. That had been a few things that he should have seen but hadn't.

He dropped the unit on the floor and carried on down the ill-lit hallway, weary of any open door and shadowy recess that he came across. He stopped as he heard a noise from behind him.

He turned and stared in growing alarm as the first figure came around the corner that he had just turned.

'Oh…shit!'

He ran as the first primal scream reached his ears.

Marco ran around the next bend, not noticing the large man that stood in the centre of the corridor. He tried to stop, tried to swerve.

Knew he wasn't going to.

Ricardo heard the noise of running footsteps around the corner and moved in that direction.

The man that flew around the corner hit him at chest height and the figure started to bounce away from him. He reached out his arms and grabbed the man to stop him from falling backwards.

He looked familiar, so familiar.

He couldn't think, couldn't concentrate.

He pulled the man close and looked him in the eyes. The other man strained to get away having seen something that had frightened him in his own gaze.

This man was no threat to him.

He put the man back on the floor and pushed him behind him just as another figure ran around the bend.

Ricardo growled deep in his throat and reached out once again. But this touch was not as…restrained as the first. He grabbed the figure with an arm and hand that seemed suddenly numb and lifted it bodily off that carpeted floor. With a sharp twist of his wrist he snapped the mans neck, the pop of vertebrae sounding as load as a gunshot in the tight confines of the hallway. He pulled the man towards him and looked into the dead mans eyes, the bloodstained jaws still snapping shut in an effort to get to the soft flesh of his throat. With disgust he threw the creature away from him back the way it had come.

Just as the next figure came into view.

Marco stood from where he had been thrown and looked back at the big man. He stood with determination and an unmovable resolve. He started towards him, one hand reaching out for his companion, his friend.

Ricardo turned slightly and regarded the man standing there. His eyes cleared for the merest of moments and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He nodded once and then turned to face the crowd that had formed in front of him.

Marco saw the look and dropped his hand, knowing that there was nothing that he could do to help Ricardo now. He turned and started running again, trying to find someone, anyone.

Ricardo's head hurt. It felt like he was being pulled in two. Sweat ran freely down his sides soaking through the thin vest that he wore.

At least the wound on his cheek didn't hurt anymore.

He smiled at the people ahead of him, beckoning with one hand.

The infected screamed and ran at him where he stood, their bodies hitting his like a wave of rotting flesh.

Marco heard the collision behind him and put on a burst of speed for the door in front of him, a door that he knew now would lead him to a flight of stairs.

He left the sounds of battle behind him as he went.

Martin walked with a purpose down the corridor outside the bridge, his talk with the captain still echoing in his mind.

Where the hell had Marco got to?

He should have been at the bridge a long while earlier, should have been there before him. He was sure of only one thing, something was wrong onboard this ship.

He passed the door to the stairway just as it flew open almost slamming him into the wall opposite. A figure blurred out from the darkened stairway beyond and ran straight into him, knocking them both to the floor.

He grabbed the figure and pushed him away.

The startled face of Marco stared back at him.

'Run! Now!'

He got to his feet and sprinted towards the door to the bridge. Martin stood, a look of confusion on his face. What the hell! He stared at the dark rectangle of the doorway hearing noises coming from several floors down; a door slamming against a wall, low moans that floated on the still air.

The sound of hundreds of running feet as something came from below.

'RUN!'

Martin saw Marco standing framed in the bridge's door, holding it open for him.

He ran, not wanting to see what came through the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8 :Survivors

Margo sat with her back to the door.

She sat in silence, hand clamped over her mouth afraid to breath, content to stare ahead into the empty room.

She had only looked through the peephole once, some time ago now, but once had been enough. She hadn't looked since.

She had been sitting on the bed when she had heard the thud of a body falling against her room door. She had stood and, taking several deep breaths, had walked over to the wooden barrier that separated her and the rest of the ship, Margo pressed her eye to the small hole there and looked out.

The magnifying affect showed a man in the corridor on the other side just now starting to get to his feet.

Shifting her perspective a little she saw another man; a huge monster, face set in a dark cloud of anger, his muscles rippling under his shirt shining with sweat. He hand travelled down to the handle of the door, wanting to open it for the figures beyond when yet another figure appeared around a nearby intersection.

She at once had an overwhelming urge to stay exactly where she was.

The first man, on his feet now, ran as fast as he could away from the struggle that had started between the others.

As the others came together she found that she could not tear her gaze away, she had to see.

The snap of the mans neck sounded very loud even from her side of the door.

She gasped loudly and her fist flew to her mouth, trying to force its way in, trying to shut off the noises. The big man started to turn towards the sound when it happened.

One moment he was there, his head starting its slow turn towards her, the next there came a blur of motion from the side. He was hit by, what seemed like several bodies at once, and was gone in the next instant.

A single splash of blood sprayed across the eyepiece turning the world outside a deep crimson.

She tried to see where he had gone when dozens of figures ran across her field of vision all rushing in the same direction. There were sounds of a struggle, frenetic and violent, but all too brief. Although she couldn't see what was happening she could hear all too clearly.

She slumped to the floor and pressed her back to the door, hand on her mouth, not even trusting herself to breath.

Since then there had been the odd tread of heavy footsteps behind her but she had not dared to look again fearing discovery.

Yes.

Here was definitely the safest, and only, place to be she decided.

Here was just fine.

'So what you are trying to tell me is we are royally screwed, right?'

Martin had stopped pacing long enough to stand before the captain, his fierce gaze holding the other man in place.

'No Mr. Phillips that is not what I am saying. We have options, although they may be…difficult.'

'Okay, tell me again, I'm all ears.'

The captain fell heavily into his command chair behind him his whole body weary, slumping.

'Option one is we do nothing. Without communications they will send a rescue our way, it's just a matter of waiting.

Option two, we try to get off this ship. But with the electrics out, that would be the explosion that we heard earlier, we will have to manually lower one of the boats. That means everybody here out on the deck for up to ten minutes, all helping with the gear, in plain view, doing something load enough to draw a crowd without any formidable weaponry.

Option three, we try to get to the weapons locker. It is key-coded to an electronic lock but it is on the same system as the emergency lights so it should still be working.

That as I see it are our choices at this particular time.'

Marco strolled across to the two men, conscious of the door that he left behind him, the sounds of pounding fists still echoing from the other side.

'We need weapons to get to the boats, we have pipes and fire axes scattered about the place, but they are no substitution for a good handgun or shotgun in your hands, but to get them we have to go through God-knows how many beyond that door, without weapons? Anyone else see the flaw in that plan, or is it just me?'

Martin leant heavily on one of the now, non-working computer consoles nearby and nodded to his friend.

'Yep, that's about the size of it.'

Marco shook his head in disbelief and walked back to his post next to the door.

'Well that's alright then, I thought this was going to be hard.'

Martin looked up from where he was at the sound of the captains voice.

'There is, however, some bad news.'

'Oh, that's okay then, thought our situation was almost bearable.'

The captain continued, deciding to ignore the sarcastic comment.

'I've lost control of the ship, we won't stop 'til we hit land.'

Sandra peered around the junction that they had arrived at, a quick glance, taking in every minute detail.

Seeing no immediate threat she sprinted across the open space between ad flattened herself against the opposite wall. She waved Able over.

The man staggered a little ass he crossed the space, more slowly than she had, one hand clamped to his chest.

She held up a hand indicating that he should stay where he was and then went to scout a little further ahead. It didn't take her long, she didn't want to leave the man alone for too long.

He was leaning heavily forward as she came back gasping in huge lungful of breath, sweat dripping from his chin and the end of his nose.

'You okay?'

Able looked up through bloodshot eyes.

'Just…just a little out…out of breath. I'll be…be okay.'

He tried to smile but it came out a grimace instead.

She moved the gore-streaked axe from her left hand into her right and started to reach for him, her palm open in a placating gesture.

I'm just going to have a look. Let me see.'

Able started to slide back towards the intersection where they had just come from, eyes wide with feaar and paranoia, skin flushed with sweat.

'I'm okay, it's…it's nothing. Just a…a scratch.'

Sandra clutched the axe tighter in knuckles gone suddenly white with tension.

Able saw the look on her face and knew in that moment that she knew the truth. It was just a matter of time before he became as dead as his young wife.

Before the blade was buried in his skull too.

He lifted a trembling finger and pointed at something over her shoulder his eyes going wide with fear.

Sandra spun on her heel bringing the weapon to her chest in readiness.

As soon as she turned she knew that it was a mistake, knew that she had been tricked.

She turned back just in time to see the man throw a double-fisted punch at her. Although he was weak with fever and the blow didn't have the power it should have had, still it was enough to push her back against the wall. Her feet went out from under her and she went sprawling in the hallway, the axe flying from her hand to land five feet away, out of reach on the thickly carpeted floor.

Her head struck the floor with a solid thump and she struggled to hold on to consciousness.

The last thing she saw was Able bending painfully to retrieve the fallen weapon and then he was gone, fleeing away from her and back into the bowels of the ship.

She felt her self falling into cold darkness, alone and now, with only a few personal knives on her person, basically defenceless.

Scott staggered down a hallway, a corridor that was looking more and more like every other on the large vessel.

His head hurt, it was getting harder and harder to think straight.

He stopped to lean against the wall and grasped his stomach with both hands.

He could go back to the infirmary and see the doctor or he could try and make it back to his room. Maybe a good sleep would sort out his aches and pains.

He bounced off of the walls, sweat starting to bead on his brow. He started to slow a little, his body getting lower and lower until he was almost on his knees on the floor.

It was getting harder to walk, his joints starting to seize up, his head almost ready to burst open from the pressure.

A few steps further and his body gave up the fight, he fell to the floor in a heap, not feeling or even caring as his shoulder cracked as it hit the wall on the way down.

His last semi-coherent thought was of food; a nice steak dripping with blood. Meat. Raw bloody meat.

His chest hitched once…twice then became still.

Some time later he stood and, sniffing the air like an animal, started down the hallway.


	9. Chapter 9 :Loose Ends

Sandra swayed down the hallway, the way ahead blurry and indistinct seen through the sheen of blood in her left eye.

She pressed her hand even harder to her head, almost collapsing with the pain but determined to stop the flow of blood from the ragged wound she knew she had suffered at the hands of the man she had tried to save.

If she ever saw him again she would make him pay.

Hell yes.

She leant against the wall and swiped the back of her free hand across her eyes trying once more to clear the fluid there. All she succeeded in doing was to smear the blood across her face, her vision not improving at all. She closed her left eye and carried on ahead going, she hoped, towards the bridge of the ship. If anyone were left alive it would be there that they would make a stand.

As she rounded the next intersection she walked into another figure standing motionless in the centre of the hallway.

Her remaining strength waning she stumbled backwards and thudded to a stop against the wall behind her.

She lifted her head and stared at the blurred figure in front of her trying to make out their features in the dim lighting.

They slowly turned to face her.

The man stood at just under six feet tall and had long black hair, the sweat from his face plastering it to his cheeks and brow. Sandra couldn't see the features underneath but, the way he moved, suggested that he, like her, was another survivor. A fact he confirmed in the next instant.

'Please. Help me.'

'You`re…normal. You're ok?'

It hurt to focus and also to speak, but if he was okay then maybe they could help each other find a way off this ship of death.

The man nodded not trusting himself to speak.

She stood up straight and held out her right hand, what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face all the while looking at every part of his body looking for bites or scratches. Any injury of any type. He looked okay.

He smiled back and reached out with his own hand, his whole body starting to relax.

It happened so fast.

They were almost touching, fingertips inches away when a figure blurred out of a side corridor and took the man to the floor with them.

Sandra felt her knees start to buckle and it was all she could do to not fall unto the top of them. She watched in horror as the newcomer darted its head under the chin of the other man and bit down hard. The mans gasp of horror turned into a liquid gurgle as his throat was ripped out; the soft cartilage of his trachea first stretching like a rubber band and then finally snapping. She saw the gaping, ragged wound fill with blood almost immediately and then spray from him in a fountain that hit the far wall several feet from where he lay. It covered the other figure in a shower of crimson drenching them.

They hardly noticed. They carried on eating the morsel that they had between their teeth, chewing with a single-mindedness. Only when they had finished did they fall back on the now dead man and bury their head in the raw wound like a rabid animal.

Sandra forced herself to her feet and, reaching behind her, pulled a seven inch serrated blade from a sheath nestled in the small of her back. She raised the blade and advanced on the figure in front of her. She could feel her strength ebbing away from her but she had to do something if only because the figure was in her way.

She inched forwards as quickly as she dared, always keeping her good eye on the thing at her feet. As she drew level it must have sensed her there and it raised its head to look at her.

She was stopped dead in her tracks feeling as if her legs had turned to jelly.

Ghost sniffed the air in between them like an animal would, the blood around his mouth dripping from his chin in rivulets that dripped to the thick carpet underneath him.

She looked into his eyes and he seemed to look right back into her soul.

There was no recognition there anymore, there was nothing of the man that she had once loved.

There was nothing.

The creature that had once been her lover and her friend slowly rose to its feet and took a step towards her.

Sandra backed away from him, the knife gripped in knuckles so white, suddenly so numb.

He took another step forwards, she another back.

The gap between them started to close.

She knew that there was no way that she would ever be able to outrun him, no way that, in her present state, that she could conceivably overpower him.

She was going to die.

It was a sudden feeling that she had then; a sudden overwhelming acceptance.

She stopped just before the wall met her back and threw her arms wide. Ghost walked into them and buried his head in the crook of her neck.

She put the pain aside, feeling only the loss of the man in her embrace. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she lifted the blade she held. It took all of her remaining strength to put the point of the knife against the ear of Ghost and push.

The razor-sharp steel slid into his ear canal and through his eardrum with a faint popping sound. She felt him shudder in her arms and go rigid. She moved her hands around his back and went with him to the floor not willing to surrender him again.

As they lay on the floor she heard the sound of dozens of feet running through the ship and she knew that they were coming for her, they smelt the blood.

She closed her eyes and waited for them to come.

It wasn't long till the first arrived but by then she was dead. The feeding began as the man she had tried to help got to his feet.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Able walked into the ship, the axe gripped in his hand, his chest burning from the wound he had suffered.

He rounded a corner and had to stop as he saw the mess that lay in the hall in front of him.

The axe fell to the floor with a dull thump, the carpet muffling the sound of the falling steel.

The bodies, what there was of them, had been there for some time. The blood and gore that coated the floor, walls and ceiling drying to something approaching tacky syrup.

Able forgot the axe at his feet and took a faltering step backwards.

That was when he saw the door at the end of the hallway.

He turned his head and looked back the way that he had come, the dimness of the hall less inviting but seeming somehow safer.

He made up his mind. Or rather his mind decided for him.

On closer inspection the door at the end looked to be some kind of steel construction like the entrance to a safe.

He took a step forward and then almost immediately another. He kept his eyes on the door trying desperately not to look at what he was stepping in. He felt something give way with a wet splat under his right foot and stopped for a moment feeling the gorge rise in his throat. He closed his eyes and stood in the middle of a war zone and breathed deeply, he counted to ten in his head. Slowly the bile went away and he started forwards again.

He saw the door start to recede away from him and he had a moments panic until he realized that it was his mind playing tricks on him.

He took several more steps and found himself almost directly in front of it.

Able reached out and placed his palm on the metal panel, it felt cool to the touch. He pushed.

It didn't budge even a fraction.

He tried again with both hands.

Nothing.

He looked around in a raising panic looking for a way in. He couldn't go backwards, his mind was close to giving under the stress of the situation. He couldn't go through the carpet of dead again not knowing that salvation could be just the other side of the door.

He turned and leant against the barrier, putting his hands out to the sides.

He felt nothing on the right side but on the left there was something.

He turned his head and saw a small recessed panel in the wall, a smooth surface of alloy eight inches square with a three inch slot in it about four feet from the floor.

A key-carded door.

It was a simple design, something that he had in his casinos back home. It was effective; allowing entry only with the use of the properly coded card.

There was only the one problem.

Able hung his head, his chin resting on his chest.

He looked down at the bodies at his feet and stretching ahead of him.

He took several deep shuddering breaths and fell to his knees. He pulled the nearest body towards him and checked the corpses hands.

Finding nothing he pushed the remains to the side and started to wade into the mess, his hands already starting to go crimson fro the gore.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

'So, it's decided then? We go for the weapons?'

Martin looked around at the men clustered around the dead command table.

The captain nodded his head, the two crewmen behind him looking at the floor. Marco looked at him as if he had gone mad but in the next instant slowly, and with some reluctance, nodded.

Martin sighed and stood straight.

'Grab whatever you can find and we'll get ready, we move out in ten minutes.

Marco and the crewmen moved off to get started on the preparations.

Captain McBride grabbed his upper arm and pulled him gently to one side.

The two men stood facing each other each unwilling to say what was on their minds. The captain spoke first.

'What the hell are we doing?'

'We are doing the only thing that we can do, the only thing that is left for us to do. Surely you can see that?'

McBride lowered his head, a sigh escaping from his mouth.

'I know. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. What are our chances? Have you any idea what is waiting for us out there? What makes you think that any of us are going to make it?'

Martin stood as straight as he could under the circumstances.

'We have to try. It all comes down to the choice doesn't it? Do we die trying, or do we just stay here and give up? Personally I don't quit.'

He looked the older man in the eye.

'How do you want to go captain? On your feet, or begging on your knees?'

Martin didn't wait for the answer. He reached out a hand and placed it on the old mans shoulder.

They heard a cough from the other side of the room.

Marcus stood there with the others.

'Ready?'

They had three fire axes and two pry bars as weapons. Marcus put an open bag on the table, inside were 2 flare guns with four cartridges apiece, 8 flares and a length of rope tied in a tight coil.

Martin zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

'Looks like we have the makings of a party. Let's do this before I change my mind.'


	10. Chapter 10 :Bad Karma

The zombie ran towards him screaming at the top of its lungs; a long drawn out whining that grated on the nerves.

Martin lifted the fire axe in a wide, shoulder high sweep and decapitated the creature with a single quick stroke. The body fell to the floor with a thump as the head sailed through the air in the opposite direction.

He pulled the blade from the wall where it had come to rest and turned once more to face the long hallway in front of him and his group.

Since they had left the bridge they had had to fight off several waves of the creatures, thankfully small and manageable.

He knew that it wouldn't last, they had to make the weapons locker before they were overwhelmed.

Marco stepped in front of him and scouted a little further down the hallway.

The captain placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed in the direction they were headed.

'We need to take the next set of stairs and go down 2 levels. The locker is a couple hundred yards further on that floor. Not a direct route I'm afraid'

Martin thought at that moment that 'a couple hundred yards' had never seemed like such a long distance, such an uphill struggle. But, he knew that without those weapons they didn't stand a chance in hell of making it to the boats.

They had to make a play for them before anything else. He was adamant that if they found anyone along the way (which was looking ever more unlikely) that they would do their best to save them and take them with the group.

Anyone found to be bitten or otherwise infected would have to be left behind.

As it stood he had been surprised that their trip so far hadn't drawn any more attention than that they had already had. They made the end of the corridor and started down the stairs, trying to keep the noise to the absolute minimum. They found nothing in the darkness of the narrow stairway and for that Martin was immensely grateful. The opened the door to the floor that they needed.

Nothing ran at them to attack, nothing breathed foul breath in their faces.

They passed the junctions in near silence; the only sound their boots on the thick carpet and the barely suppressed breathing. They passed signs of struggle wherever they went; blood on the walls, floor and ceiling. But it was old and starting to dry. Whatever had happened had been over for a while.

They heard the infected as they roamed the bowels of the ship, the sound travelling through the ducts and grills in the ceiling and walls.

Martin heard one of the crewmen behind sobbing quietly to himself and cursed himself for not stopping and giving the man a heavy slap to snap him out of it. He would 'talk' to him later, if there was a later.

Marco came to a stop just ahead and held up a closed fist, pulling Martin from his thoughts. The group stopped and everyone became alert.

Martin looked at his man as Marco slowly swung around the corner, crouched low, the heavy metal bar in his hands raised and ready.

'What's happening?'

The captain spoke almost in his ear. He turned and looked at the other standing just behind him.

'Stay here. Do not move until I come back!'

He waited till the other man nodded and walked towards the turn.

Not hearing anything around the bend he risked a quick look.

Marco was nowhere to be seen.

The next corridor carried on for quite a way but there were numerous twists and turns down its length. Marco could have gone down any one. He started a slow, crouching walk towards the first door. As he got nearer he noticed it was slightly ajar. Keeping his ears open he reached out and tried the handle. It turned slowly and quietly in his hand and the door swung inwards.

The room behind was in near darkness, but the spill of emergency lighting from the hall highlighted the bed and the floor around it. He saw no bodies or parts of bodies in the area. Opening it further he saw the shadow of a body standing against the far wall. He lifted the axe and mere seconds before he buried it in the person, whoever they were, Marco grabbed his shoulder from behind him, putting a finger to his lips.

They looked at the figure there and realized that they were facing the wall and couldn't see them as they stood there.

The unknown person there stood with their head cocked to one side and for a moment they thought they had found another survivor. They saw the ragged clothing and the wounds in their back and legs and knew that they had been in that condition for a while.

Slowly they backed away and pulled the door shut.

The door clicked back into place with a low click that sounded like a gunshot to their strained ears. They held their breath and waited but whoever it had been in the room couldn't have heard them.

They made their way back to the other three men waiting for them.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Margo held her breath as she heard more movement at the other side of her door.

She thought she heard talking. But couldn't be sure.

She pressed her ear to the wood and strained to listen to the noises there.

Her eyes grew wide as she heard the talking again.

As far as she knew the others that she had seen didn't talk, maybe they couldn't. The only sounds she had ever heard were the screaming and the ragged breathing.

She stood and risked another look out of the peephole.

Across the hallway she saw several men crouched low and seemingly in a heated conversation.

She stood and grasped the door handle on her side and was just about to rush out when she had a terrible thought; what if they were like the rest.

It could be a trap.

She let go of the handle and looked back oyt into the corridor beyond.

It looked like they were fiishing up what they were saying and were getting ready to move off.

It was now or never.

She took a deep breath and grabbed the handle once more.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

'JESUS CHRIST!'

Martin spun around and was reaching out a hand to grasp the offending crewman round the throat for giving their position to anything that was in the immediate area when he found himself in a strange dilemma.

Did he, in fact, strangle the man that may very well have gotten them all killed, or did he introduce himself to the woman that was now standing in front of them.

Before he could make up his mind which he would have preferred, several things happened that took the decision out of his control.

The door that they had just opened started to jump in its frame as the man on the other side started to throw themselves against it and the other, more important thing, was the thunder of feet from the stairway back the way they had come.

Marco reached out and grabbed the woman around one of her wrists and started to pull him along as he ran.

'Martin took the time to look at the captain and the other men.

'RUN!'

Nobody needed to be told twice.

They ran down the hallway, the need to keep quiet all but forgotten.

The sounds behind them intensifying as their pursuers followed them. Marco turned his head as he rounded the next corner and shouted behind him.

'This had better be worth it…I'm getting a bit…'

He never finished the sentence.

He let go of the woman's wrist as his feet slid out from underneath him. He fell headlong into the mess that covered the floor. His hands flying out to save him, falling into the gore that seemed to coat everything.

He managed to keep his face from sliding along the floor, but only just.

The rest came to a stop just at the edge of the carnage in front of them and found they could only stare at what they saw there.

The bodies had been there for some time; organs were thrown everywhere. Things that should never have been outside of a living, breathing person lay scattered about like discarded trash. But the worst thing, the very worst, was the large blood and gore covered man that stood in the middle of the wreckage.

He just stood there, staring, but not seeing the large metal-faced door ahead of him. He swayed lightly as if caught in a light breeze.

The captain took a step forward.

'Mr. Harley…is that you?'

Martin took a quick look at the older man and then back to the other as he started to turn slowly around.

One look was all it needed to confirm that there was no saving him.

He saw a blood-streaked card of some kind in his hand and knew that they had reached their destination. It was just that this man had made it here before them.

Able let out an primal scream and launched himself forwards, his bulk not impeding his speed at all.

He took three steps.

Marco had a moment to think about what he was doing before acting. He stuck out a hand and grabbed one of the running mans ankles.

Able fell forward like a felled tree, landing in the middle of the blood-soaked hallway. He landed hard, his face slamming into the carpet with a sickening thud. His jaws slammed together with the sound of a bear trap, teeth and blood flying from between his clenched lips.

Blood flew in all direction hitting everyone in the area, coating everyone in crimson.

The crewman who had sobbed earlier made a gagging sound deep in his throat and turned and ran back the way they had come. The captain stepped back and reached out a hand to stop him but it was too late.

Martin looked at the back of the fleeing man, the card on the floor just out of reach of the grasping fingers of a dead man then at the door that they had come to breach.

He made a decision.

'Let's get those damn guns, he won't slow them down for long.'

He reached down and grabbed the card at his feet, absently wiping the blood off on his trouser leg. Forgetting about the destruction all around him he started to walk through the human debris under his feet.

He walked up to the door, aware that Marco had regained his footing and that the others had followed him.

Martin reached out and, with a quick prayer to a God that he was damn sure wasn't listening, swiped the card against the reader set in the wall.

There was a hiss of gas and a whine of motors as the door started to open.

It opened a total of eighteen inches and then ground to a noisy halt.

Marco banged his fist against the solid metal.

'Oh, this crap just keeps getting better and better.'


	11. Chapter 11 :Into the Dark

The thing that had once been Scott Winters was only the first to find the man as he tried to hide, snivelling and half mad in an empty supply cupboard.

His acute hearing had not been effected by his deteriorating condition, and the sailors low sobs drew him straight to his hiding place.

Scott sniffed the air; deep breaths that sang of promise and food. A smell that no human would ever know or understand.

He found the right doorway and stood there silently and patiently; two traits that where not shared by any of the other infected onboard.

The sailor on the other side of the suddenly too thin door held his breath as he heard a motion on the opposite side. Thinking that it may be rescue he made the last mistake that he would ever make.

He opened the door to let his would-be rescuer entry.

It happened so fast that he never even had time to scream.

Scott moved with a speed that was almost too fast to follow, or perhaps it only seemed that way.

He dove into the small space and wrenched back the other mans head. Hid teeth sank into the fleshy part of his throat and he pulled back, shaking his head like a dog.

As he chewed on the soft oesophageal flesh in his mouth the ragged wound started to fountain blood in a wide arc. The crimson covered the walls, the floor and the ceiling. Coating Scott from his head to his feet.

As he darted his head in for another bite the first of a long parade of infected appeared around a nearby corner. Most of them continued on after the people they were tracking, just a few stopped to share in the spoils of the dead sailor, fighting each other like wild animals over the choicest of morsels.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Marco stood by the part open doorway and scanned the outside watching for any movement from the direction they had just come from. So far they had had no unwelcome visitors, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He could hear groans and screams from other parts of the ship, all filtered through the air ducts. The noises were low and indistinct so they had no idea how close or how far away they were.

They were running rapidly out of options.

Martin and the captain were going over the weapons with trained eyes.

He looked the older man in the eye as he picked up a shiny new double-barrel.

'Take the shotguns and as much ammunition as you can carry.'

The other sailor in the room was crouched against the far wall, the furthest away from the open door.

'Why not take everything? Why just the shotguns? What the hell are we doing here?' He put his head in his hands, 'I DON'T WANT TO DIE HERE!'

Martin stepped over to him loading the weapon that he carried as he walked.

'I don't have the time or the inclination to explain this to you son, so I want you to get off your ass and wind your neck in before you make me mad!' He thrust the gun at the man stock first.

'The shots come out the other end, try not to shoot anybody with it by accident.'

He turned away and started to walk back to the racks.

As he reached the captain again he heard the distinctive metallic click of a hammer being locked into place.

Martin turned slowly around and saw the man on his feet, the shotgun that he had just handed him levelled at his chest.

The man started to inch slowly towards the door.

Marco started to move slowly towards him from the other direction.

The sailor stopped as he saw the movement from the corner of his eye.

'Take another step and I swear I'll cut this asshole in half!'

Marco stopped and moved away from the door, his hands raised in the air. As soon as the man had gotten closer he would jump him and disable him.

The man side stepped to the door and turned his body so he faced the men gathered in the room.

'I'm leaving, now. If you idiots want to stay here and die then that's up to you…I won't be…'

The hand shot through the opening at his back and grabbed his throat attempting to pull him through the gap. His one saving grace was the shotgun as it was placed across the door at chest height.

The man started to scream then, his voice rising in pitch as the dead on the other side started to take bites fro his lower body and legs. More hands gripped his shoulders and arms trying to tear him free of the firearm that stopped his body from leaving the room.

The others snapped out of their shock and reached for the doomed sailor. Martin got a hand on his wrist and the captain grabbed the other trying to pull him back. The deadly tug-of-war began wit the man as the rope.

They heard a sound like tearing cloth just before the man they were trying to save went limp in their arms. They gave one last heave and his top half flew back into the room trailing what was left of his stomach and internal organs on the floor in a bloody puddle.

The captain and Martin fell backwards, the remainder of the corpse landing on top of them.

The sounds of feeding outside intensified as the dead went to work on the legs and insides of the doomed man.

Marco ran back to the door and grabbed the handle trying to slid it shut, the strength of utter panic and fear helping his effort.

The door moved an inch then one more.

He saw other hands lending themselves to his effort and the door started to close. Slowly, but it did start to close.

The distance between started to shrink.

Fifteen inches…

The infected people on the other side started to notice.

Twelve inches…

Several figures started to stand from their meal on the floor.

Six inches…

One figure that was close than the rest reached forward and managed to get a hand into the gap. It stretched forwards and its palm slid through the opening.

The three men gave a final push and the door slid shut with a resounding clag of metal on metal.

The hand that had been trying to force its way in fell twitching to the floor, clenching and unclenching, severed at the wrist.

Martin kicked it across the room and sank to his knees with the other two man, exhausted and wet with sweat.

Only over the sound of their breathing did they become aware of the screaming coming from inside the room as the woman they had rescued stared at the bloody piece of meat that had come to rest at her feet, the fingers just starting to come to a stop.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The dead outside started to gather in number; a multitude of hands banging against the smooth metal of the now closed door.

Some of them got frustrated quickly and fell to the floor to continue feeding on the bodies that lay all around. A few preferring the taste of the recently dead man, others falling like vultures on the other remains.

There was no shortage.

But there, near the back, stood a lone figure. A man that was covered in blood and gore. A creature who had once had a name.

Scott looked at the steel door ten feet away and a low growl started deep in his throat. He cocked his head to the side and waited. Slowly, almost contemplatively he bent down to the floor and picked up a severed arm. He joined in the feast with the rest of his brothers and sisters.


	12. Chapter 12 :As needs must

Martin sat with his back against the door, shotgun loaded across his legs.

His head was lowered and his brow creased as if in deep concentration.

The captain lay on the floor on the other side of the room, his head resting on the bag that they had bought with them from the bridge. It wasn't a bed but it was as comfortable as he was going to get. The pistol that he had picked up next to him well within reach.

Marco paced the floor between the two men, his gaze focused on something far away.

Margo was trying to squeeze herself more and more into one corner, her mind seemingly having snapped from the intense action earlier.

The four had been in the room now for almost six hours, the banging on the door had lessened but had not ceased.

They were still outside.

They were still waiting for them.

Martin lifted his head and looked over to the surviving member of his team.

'Ready?'

Marco racked the slide of the weapon in his hands and moved further into the room away from the door.

Martin stood slowly and reached over to the older man still laying prone on the floor. He grasped his shoulder and gently shook him waking him up.

He looked over to where the young woman sat rocking gently back and forth and then turned away.

Martin walked to the opposite end of the room and reached up to a grill set in the wall just under the height of the ceiling. He put his fingers through the lattice work and pulled. The muscles in his arms flexed with the exertion and he heard the bones in his back making little popping sounds. The grill moved a fraction of an inch then another.

He gave a final pull, his weight behind it and the metal popped out of the frame.

Martin threw it on the floor and moved a box from the floor over so it was underneath, he stood up and put his head in the hole that was left behind.

Looking left he saw a long expanse of smooth metal moving away into the distance. He moved his head in the opposite direction and saw the same going that way. He pulled his head back out and looked at the captain, a questioning look on his face.

'Left will be the quickest route to take us outside.'

'Left it is then.'

Martin hauled himself up and in and found that there was enough room to crawl on his hands and knees. The pistol that he had picked up dug into his lower back and he felt the reassuring weight of several clips of ammunition in his pockets. He started the slow trek along the steel passageway, the shotgun pushed ahead of him.

Captain mcBride boosted himself up with surprising agility for a man of his years and followed in the others wake, a shotgun strapped across his back, the pockets of his captains jacked filled with shells should he need them.

Marco stood at the opening back in the room and reached a hand to the terrified woman on the floor at his feet.

She lifted her head and stared back at the man in front of her.

'Are we safe…is it over?'

Marco smiled as best he could and grasped her hand as she held it up.

'Nearly. Come with me I'll look after you.'

She let him lift her to her feet and walked obediently over to the hole where the others had gone. Without complaint she pulled herself in and started off in the direction the others had gone.

Marco picked up the bag with the extra ammunition in and put it in the shaft. He put his shotgun in also and the placed both his hands on the edge of the metal lip ready to get in himself.

That was when it happened.

The sailor that they all thought was dead; the sailor that they had all seen pulled in half in front of their very eyes reached up from the floor from where he had been slowly, silently crawling and grabbed the bottom of his boot. It used the grip it had to pull itself closer to the man in its grasp.

As Marco turned his head to see what he was caught on the thing that had once been a man sank its teeth through the fabric of his trousers just above the top of the tough leather boot.

Marco shouted in alarm and pain as the creature took a chunk out of his ankle.

He fell back into the room blood from his torn flesh coating his pants leg and filling his boot.

As they fell his hand brushed against a rack of shotguns and they fell to the floor around them. He felt the thing that held him start to pull him towards it and knew that he had only a matter of seconds.

On pure instinct he grabbed the nearest weapon and wrapped his hands around the barrel and the receiver.

He brought his hands back and then thrust them forward with as much strength as he could muster. The heavy wooden stock crunched into the things face and shattered its nose, several teeth flew from the mouth and blood squirted from between its still chewing lips.

It moved in for another bite.

Marco pushed forwards again, this time managing to hit the thing on the top of the head. It went limp for a few seconds and that was all the time that he needed to pull himself painfully to his feet. He started to hobble to the grill and then, at the last second, stopped.

He turned and walked back to the still twitching dead man and lifted the gun once more.

He grabbed the barrel in a two-handed grip and swung as hard as he could.

The wood of the stock cracked as it connected with the mans skull.

Again…the wood started to splinter.

Again…the things head started to change shape.

Again…the head split apart like an over ripe watermelon and blood and brain sprayed all around.

Marco stopped and let the weapon drop to the floor.

He turned and hobbled back to the vent. Grabbing the lip he boosted himself up and in.

He heard Martins voice from further along the shaft.

'Marco, what happened? You okay?'

Marco lifted his head and fought through the pain he felt from his torn ankle.

'It's all good boss, I…fell. It's all good.'

He pushed the bag ahead of him as he crawled towards the others, his wound leaving a blood trail on the smooth steel as he moved.


	13. Chapter 13 :So Close

They crawled single-file down and through the dark, cramped confines of the metal ducting. Only the light from the vents set in the wall lighting their way from the emergency lighting out in the corridors.

They had had to stop for a few minutes as they came across a group of infected feeding on a number of corpses.

They knew that the could not be seen through the small grills but they knew that they had to keep as quiet as they could to avoid detection.

The men and women that had made up the group had been huddled protectively in a corner of the hallway trying desperately to fight back against their attackers. As if being in a close group would save them from the fate that was stalking towards them, with grasping hands and tearing teeth of the dead hordes.

Martin had seen many things in his time as a soldier, even more serving as a mercenary. He had participated in acts that no human being should ever see.

But this…

This … desecration was too much even for his eyes.

He held a finger to his lips as one of the things outside lifted its head and sniffed the air like an animal. It turned and looked into his eyes behind the grill and just for a second Martin thought he had been seen.

If they had to fight, to move their weapons in the tight confines of the ducts then they would be finished.

Then it turned back and buried its face in the gore soaked remains that lay on the floor.

They started off again, moving as silently as they could

When they had travelled far enough away from the group Martin whispered over his shoulder for them all to stop and rest.

They all made themselves as comfortable as they could on the hard metallic surface.

Martin put his forehead against the cool metal and closed his eyes…just for a moment.

Captain McBride lay on his back and stared at the ceiling above him, looking into the distance, seeing nothing, trying not to think of anything.

Margo stay on her hands and knees, her body in the now but her mind as close to breaking as any human could be. It was only a matter of time until it happened.

Marco lay flat to the floor panting quietly with the exertion of the trip. Knowing that he was dying, angry that he could do nothing to stop the spread of the virus that was coursing through his body but trying to fight it anyway.

Unseen by the others, the blood trail from his torn ankle ran off into the darkened distance.

Unseen by them, yes.

But other eyes were watching from underneath as the blood dripped through the seals in the metal, rivulets rolling slowly down the walls and dripping silently in dime -sized droplets to the thickly carpeted floor.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The creature that had once been named Scott Winters looked up at the ceiling and sniffed the air. The scent of fresh blood hanging like a fine perfume.

If he still knew what a fine perfume smelled like.

The part of his brain that had once made him human was diminishing with every passing second, the part that controlled pure instinct taking more and more control.

He stood straight and reached his hands towards the place where he smelt the strongest concentration .

Others around him saw what he was doing and followed his actions.

Soon there were dozens of hands raised to the wall, an inhuman wailing starting from countless dead throats.

Scott shifted his gaze slightly and started to follow the smell of coppery blood.

The pack trailed along in his wake.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Martin found the vent soon after they started off again.

He looked through the metal into a large storage room. Shelf upon shelf was stacked with food of every sort.

They had made it to the kitchens. According to the captain they were close to an outside door that would lead them outside and then on to one of the lifeboats. It would still be dangerous, but it was something that they were going to have to do if they wanted to survive.

He turned awkwardly in the confines and put his feet against the metal grill. Taking a deep breath he pulled his legs back six inches then pushed as hard as he could. The screws that held the grill in place held for a split second and then snapped. The metal cover was thrown out of the housing and landed on the floor with a loud clang on the tiled floor.

Martin slid himself out of the space and landed quietly on the floor, the shotgun in his hands up and ready almost instantly. He quickly scanned the room and seeing no immediate threats in the area called to the others.

McBride came next with a little less grace than Martin had and landed heavily and awkwardly. He stumbled and would have fallen if not for Martins helping hand under his arm. He nodded his thanks and lifted his own firearm and moved far enough away to be helpful.

Margo pushed herself free and landed on the floor also with Martins help. She walked calmly over to the other side of the room and stood there, her head lolling gently from one side to another, whispered words coming from her lips.

Martin stood looking at the grill and waited for Marco. He heard the scraping of the mans body as he dragged it towards the opening, and over the sound another, the laboured breathing of someone in pain.

A moment later the black bag from the bridge came through the gap and fell to the floor.

It was followed by a hand, the knuckles white and bloodless where they gripped the edge of the wall tightly.

Marco dragged himself out of the space, his face appearing bathed in sweat and agony.

Martin dropped the gun to the floor and reached for his colleague.

They grasped each others hands and together they fell backwards unto the floor of the kitchen.

Martin was first to his feet, helping the other to a sitting position against the wall at his back. He became aware of the injury Marco had suffered as the other man reached his hand to the ragged bite.

'You didn't … did you?'

Marco could only nod his head weakly, not trusting himself to speak. He knew in his fogged mind that he only had a short time left.

Martin hung his head, the fingers of his hands digging painfully into the flesh of his palms, hard enough to draw thin crescent moon shapes of blood.

'You can't do this to me man … you can't leave me alone with these civilians.'

Marco opened his eyes and a thin smile spread across his lips.

'Wouldn't dream of … of it boss.' His smile spread wider although the pain must have been terrible.

'You'd probably kill them. Couldn't have … have that on my… my conscience. That would really suck.'

Martin looked back and smiled in return.

'Let's get the hell off this damned boat.'


	14. Chapter 14 :Nearly There

'Get up damn you!'

His head was spinning, it was almost too much just to keep his legs working.

'If I have to drag your ass to the boat I will, don't think that I won't!'

Every fibre of his being hurt. His blood seemed to be boiling in his veins. His head about to explode with the pressure he felt behind his eyeballs.

But, he kept going.

Nearly there now.

He heard the voices as if from underwater, somehow distorted and indistinct.

'Captain, watch those corners. Margo don't drop that bag.'

Marco opened his eyes and tried to focus, finding it harder and harder to do so.

So close.

So very close.

He let out a loud groan and felt the hands that held him tighten their grip, almost dragging him along now.

'St … stop.'

Martin brought the group to a breathless halt and turned to look his friend in the eyes.

'Too late … too …'

He felt the sting of a palm as the other man slapped him across the face. His eyes shot open and he glared up at the man kneeling next to him.

'I am not leaving you here. I can't.'

Marco smiled through the pain that he felt, his eyes bloodshot and threatening to close again. He kept them open by sheer force of will alone.

Martin knew that possibly his last team member on the ship was dying in his arms and it was almost too much to bear.

He turned to look at the others and slowly shook his head.

The captain stood at the intersection, his face impassive and stoic. Margo stood panting ragged breaths, her face devoid of all emotion, lost in her own thoughts.

He turned back to the man on the floor and slowly slid an arm free, momentarily feeling relief as his skin moved away from the furnace feel of him. He reached under his shirt and pulled the pistol that was there cocking the hammer back and placing the barrel against the fevered forehead.

His finger tightened on the trigger, a fraction more pressure all it would need to end the pain.

Marcos' arm shot out and gripped the weapon with a strength that he should not have.

'Not … not dead yet … boss.'

Martin tried to pull the gun back to him but the mans fingers remained like bands of steel.

He surrendered it to him and propped him up against the wall, in a comfortable position as he could.

The captain reached across the space between them and handed over a spare shotgun; shells already loaded, the gun primed and ready.

Martin took it and laid it across his friends lap placing a free hand next to the trigger. He doubted he would be able to load another pair of shells but at least he would have a fighting chance at taking some of those things with him.

He stood and nodded once, a look of resignation on his features.

'Let's go. We're nearly there.'

The group, less one more, moved off again their footsteps receding into the distance until they were gone and Marco was left alone in the hallway with just his pain as company.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The group of dead washed through the ships corridors like a rotten tide

Faces were raised in the air, the scent of fresh blood like a promise, close now…so close.

One figure lead from slightly further forward, the horde at his back content to follow in his footsteps.

Scott Winters shuffled down the hallway, not running but hardly walking either. The smell of death was heavy in then air.

Fresh meat.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Marco felt his eyes closing again and he forced them open once more.

He rolled his head to the left and saw his hand gripping the pistol, his other hand resting next to the trigger of the shotgun on his lap.

He leant his head back against the cool wall behind him and stared at the ceiling above him.

He could hear the humming of the emergency lights nearby, the glow from them turning the entire space around him blood red.

He started to close his eyes again when he heard it.

Or rather, he heard them.

They were coming.

He raised the pistol with an almost Herculean effort and pointed it down the hallway, his aim wavering wildly from side to side, his eyesight starting to blur.

The first figure around the bend was so covered with blood and gore that it was hard to tell whether they had been male or female. But even through the pain he was sure of one thing … it looked hungry and pissed-off.

He steadied the gun and waited till it was ten feet from him and the fired.

The gun kicked back into his palm and it lifted wildly with every shot but he managed hold it long enough.

The first shot went wide, thudding into the ceiling above the creature.

The second and third hit it in the shoulder and the chest, slowing it but not putting it down.

The third caught it in the temple tearing a massive chunk of flesh from its skull and dropping it to the floor. It skidded on the carpet and came to a stop almost at his feet blood starting to pool beneath its head from the mortal wound.

The pistol wavered and then dropped onto his lap.

A second dead man appeared from where the first had been and ran at him, a scream rising from the depths of the dead and decaying vocal cords. He could see others behind it but first things first.

How he managed it he would never know, his life was measured in mere moments.

The shotgun lifted from his lap and he fired.

Both barrels at the same time.

The result was instant and spectacular.

Both shells hit the thing as it bent towards him less that a foot away.

The body was thrown away from him back the way it had come, the head exploding like an over ripe watermelon. Brain, blood and skull fragments flew backwards into the crowd of bodies in the hallway acting almost like the shrapnel from a grenade.

Two of the things went down, bone fragments hitting them in the face and eyes, dropping them to the floor permanently.

The others came on.

Marco raised the gun and sighted on the closest, but didn't fire.

He felt the corners of his mouth start to lift in a smile.

'Screw you.'

He turned the gun and in a last act of free will put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, dead before he hit the floor.

The horde that swarmed the corridor fell on his warm body and tore it limb from limb.

The corpse closest to him twitched its fingers and slowly drew itself to its feet.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Martin stopped in his tracks and turned back the way they had come.

He had heard the succession of quick shots and then the twin reports of a shotgun then nothing for a few seconds. Finally the single report from a handgun.

That had been the shot that had stopped him in his tracks. He knew what that last report had meant. Knew that it was over.

The captain put a hand on his arm.

'What's wrong? Why did we stop?'

Martin turned and looked back at the older man.

'Nothing … let's go.'

The resumed their run for freedom.


	15. Chapter 15 :Endings?

Outside beyond the porthole everything from the rails and up looked normal.

Tranquil.

Calm.

At first sight that was.

Until you looked closer…

The deckchair thrown to one side; the fabric ripped and blood-stained.

Sections of the deck smeared with gore and blood. Drag marks disappearing around corners.

The pool … God the pool. The parts bobbing in the red-tinged water.

And finally the bodies; dead and infected alike littering every square inch of open deck.

Martin looked out to the world beyond the door aware that he had to do something but unaware just yet of what that might be. He knew that there was a huge horde of dead at their heels and that there where even more ahead.

Excrement … creek … paddle, anyone?

He leant his head against the steel of the door and took several deep breaths. What the hell to do?

'We need a distraction.'

He turned at the voice and saw that the woman, Margo had stepped up next to him.

He looked deep into her eyes and saw a glimmer of madness still, but also something else. There was hope in them.

The captain looked over his shoulder where he knelt at the corridors junction a few meters away. He lowered his gaze after a few moments and lightly bobbed his head.

Martin hung his own in reply.

'I'll try and draw them away, give you time to get to the boat and get it in the water.'

'No, that's not what I meant.'

He looked up into her face, her jaw set and determined.

'Both of you need to lower the boat, I'm not strong enough. I'll keep them away.'

McBride looked as if he wanted to say something more; his mouth opened and then closed again, opened once more…

'I hate to admit it, she has a point.'

Martin reached out to her knowing that anything that he said wouldn't be enough to hold her back.

'Anyway,' she said. 'I've been scared for long enough.'

They all heard the tell-tale sign of feet in the hallways of the vessel. They were getting closer, they were running out of time.

'Whenever you're ready. We go.'

Margo stepped up to the door and grasped the handle.

'No time like now.'

She placed the bag she had been carrying at her feet and reached out her hands tenderly cupping Martins face in them.

Before either of the men could say anything more she opened the steel barrier and stepped out. Just before the door shut they were sure they heard her say something else.

Sounded like … 'Fresh meat.'

Martin allowed himself a small tight smile and watched as she ran at the closest infected. Just before she reached them she veered away, running for the next. In no time at all she had gathered a fairly large group that eagerly snapped at her heels as she back peddled across the deck.

She seemed to know what she was doing and, even if she didn't, there was little they could do to help her now.

He felt rather than saw the captain as he walked up next to him. Martin took a moment to grab the duffel and sling it over one shoulder.

They waited until the last of the dead where out of sight then through an unsaid agreement opened the door once again.

McBride turned when they were outside and jammed the shotgun that he carried through the brackets on the door. It wouldn't stop them for long but hopefully it would slow them long enough to make a difference.

The two men dashed across the sun-streaked deck and ran towards the nearest boat cradle. They reached it in record time.

'Open the panel to your left and flip all the switches. Let me know when your ready?'

Martin leant his gun up against the railings and almost ripped the panels cover from its housing. Inside `were a set of seven switches and he threw six of them as fast as he could. His hand slipped and he lost his grip on the last. He steadied his hand, taking a breath, and reached for it again. It locked down easily enough.

'Ready.'

McBride turned to him.

'Underneath is a handle, slot it in place and crank it anti-clockwise. It won't move fast bat it will move.'

Martin saw the crooked bar and put it in the required space, they started at almost the same moment. The boat ahead of them started to lower amazingly slowly.

Too slowly.

They heard growls and howls from somewhere off to their right and instantly both men grabbed the shotguns nearby and lifted them in the general direction of the sound.

On the other side of the deck they saw a figure run towards the front of the ship, the woman's hair streaming out behind her in the slight breeze.

A few seconds after she went by the first of the creatures followed.

It wasn't alone.

Martin turned back to the task at hand.

The boat sank inch by inch.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Margo ran.

And ran.

She breathed easily, entirely happy that she had never smoked or drank.

Her body moved through the air and her feet skimmed the deck. She imagined herself flying.

A legless, one-armed figure reached out to her trying to grasp her ankle as she ran past.

She jumped into the air and the hand missed her by at least a foot. She came down lightly and continued her game of cat and mouse.

The demons were at her back and she knew that one slip would mean her death.

But everything would be okay.

She could fly.

She smiled and kept running, a smile on her face.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

McBride heard the door give way where they had come from. It hadn't lasted early long enough.

They had one saving grace; the horde had no idea where they were.

That was the good news.

The bad …

In about five minutes, max, they would be found and ripped apart.

Apparently martin had the same thought as he had. He had stopped turning the handle and grabbed the shotgun once again.

He aimed at the cable in front of him.

'Think it'll work?'

The captain looked first at the wrist-thick steel cable then at the weapon that the other man held.

He smiled a slight smile and pointed his own gun at the cable facing him.

He put his finger on the trigger and applied a small amount of pressure.

'Hell if I know.'

Both men fired at the same time, the noise incredibly loud in the silence of the day.

The results of the shots were even more spectacular.

The trailing end of the group chasing Margo stopped their pursuit and turned their hungry gaze in their direction. The second group from the interior of the ship found the stairway that lead to their prey.

One of the cables splintered from the solid shot fired towards it but held …

The second exploded in a shower of metallic fibres.

McBride felt splinters whiz past his face and threw his head back, lifting his arm to protect his eyes. Martin lowered his arms and watched in dismay as the small launch swung on one half destroyed cable. He lifted the weapon again and pumped in another shell.

The second cable snapped as leant towards it.

He saw it snap and watched in horror as one jagged end flew towards his face. He threw his arms up to protect his face knowing that if the cable hit him fully there would be nothing that he could do to save major injury.

The thick cable seemed to move in slow motion and all he could do was watch.

A split second before it hit him he felt rough hands on his shoulders and he was spun around, stopping mere inches from the rotten face of a dead man.

He knew he was going to die.

Knew that there wasn't a damn thing that he could do to stop it.

He forgot the cable.

It snapped taught over his shoulder and flew over it. The fractured, splintered end sliced through the fabric of his shirt cutting into his shoulder. It kept going.

The end smashed into the face of the creature in front of him. It hit it on the bridge of the nose and just carried on. The dead man was lifted off its feet with the force of the shot and thrown backwards. The cable snapped again and was tugged from the things skull taking with it the best part of the rotten brain.

Martin, now free of the restraining hands, dropped to the deck and reached his right hand to his lacerated shoulder, applying as much pressure as could stand.

McBride was next to him in the next instant.

He felt a second pair of hands on him and thought that there was another infected next to him. He tried to grab the shotgun from where it had fallen but couldn't reach it in time.

'It's okay, relax.'

Margo helped the captain get him to his feet.

While he stood there swaying gently McBride stooped and grabbed the bag from the deck at their feet, he lifted it and opened it. He took something from inside then zipped it back up. He threw it overboard into the water below. It landed with a splash.

'Not to be too unkind miss, but what happened to the things that were chasing you?'

Margo took a quick look behind her.

'Ah yes, about that…'

The captain looked in the direction she had come from. His eyes growing wide from the sight.

'Oh shit!'

He helped Martin to the railing a few yards away and opened the barrier there.

Then he pushed him. Margo jumped as soon as he was clear.

He waited a few seconds and turned to the crowd of dead that were nearly upon them. He lifted the flare gun that he taken from the bag and, hastily aiming, fired the shell that it held into their ranks. Not looking at the results he threw the gun down and jumped through the gap in the rails.

Martin felt himself falling through space and did his best to arrest his fall.

He landed on his torn shoulder and it was all he could do to not pass out.

As his head broke the surface he heard another splash as a body landed next to him, about five feet away.

Then another as a third mass fell into the foaming sea.

Then a forth.

What the … ?

A charred and still smoking corpse broke the water next to him and he lurched away from it.

He heard the cough of a small engine as the launch came to life and then hands were helping him from the sea just as his head was threatening to submerge again.

The figure pulled him onboard the launch and then they were moving away from the ship.

He lifted his head and through the pain he felt he saw the myriad dead standing at the railings looking back at them as they moved away.

He thought he saw one of them standing there, apart from the others. Its hands were down and it didn't look as … vacant … as the others.

He thought he saw it as it saw him. But, in the next instant, the figure was gone, swallowed into the throng that surged around it.

Martin knew no more as the world turned black around him. He allowed it to swallow him into its depths.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The large vessel sped away from the three survivors towards ports unknown. The ship continuing its journey although no-one alive remained onboard.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The launch followed in the ships wake. The three people onboard tired to their very bones. Their spirits broken along with their bodies.

They had escaped.

They were alive.

They were headed back home.

Civilization had never seemed so far away

But … they were alive.

For now, at least, that was enough.

_**A.N**_

_**Well, that dear reader is where we leave our survivors.**_

_**Will they be okay? Will they find the world that they left behind the same when they finally reach land once again?**_

_**We know that the Leviathan will reach port before them, but what will be left for our heroes?**_

_**Tune in next time and find out.**_


End file.
